What Could Have Been
by the-padfoots
Summary: But he laughed at everything, and she laughed too much. He was a rebel… and well she was a rebel too, in a more covert way. He was witty; she was sarcastic. She fell in love too easily; he fell in love too hard. And from the beginning to the end, they were always there for each other.
1. I Forgot To Remember To Forget

Chapter 1

"_I Forgot To Remember To Forget"_

Everyone knows _the_ story: the beautiful story of James and Lily Potter. The one where after years of pursuing and being rejected by Lily, James finally deflated that big head of his and Lily, well, _nah_ she didn't hate him. It's the story Hagrid told Harry one afternoon over tea and rock-hard scones; the story turned into legend by Hogwarts students who adored James and idolized Lily. But if you could ask Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, or Peter Pettigrew, if you could read Mary Macdonald's diary or somehow talk to Frank and Alice Longbottom, if you could sit down with Professor Dumbledore's portrait and get him to remember the frightening but wonderful years the Marauders wandered the grounds of Hogwarts, then you would hear _their_ story.

Theirs is a love story, but more than that theirs is a story of betrayal and forgiveness, of broken hearts and unexpected goldmines, of friendships that persist through lifetimes. Theirs is a story of some of the most harrowing times in wizarding history, but also a reminder that _happiness can be found even in the darkest of times, when one only remembers to turn on the light._

Theirs is all that, and _then_ a love story. Theirs is Sirius, Remus and Peter; Mary and Marlene; Frank and Alice; Severus; Teddy. Theirs is everything, and everything that could have been.

Because James and Lily didn't always walk the same path. She liked the Beatles; he liked Frankie and the Hippogriffs. Her favorite subject was Potions; he skipped classes to play Quidditch. She went to the Halloween after-party once in sixth year on a dare; he planned the after-party. But he laughed at everything, and she laughed too much. He was a rebel… and well she was a rebel too, in a more covert way. He was witty; she was sarcastic. She fell in love too easily; he fell in love too hard. And from the beginning to the end, they were always there for each other.

Theirs is the story of James Potter and Lily Evans.

* * *

><p><em>(The Sorting)<em>

…

_The lion of courage_

_The badger of honor_

_The raven of wit_

_The serpent of desire._

_Each house is noble,_

_Each house is distinct,_

_United are strong,_

_But divided are weak._

_So stuff your brains full of knowledge,_

_And your hearts full of pluck,_

_Your bodies of spirit,_

_And your lives of luck._

_Stand together, be wary_

_Of fighting within,_

_Remember my warning,_

_Now let the Sorting begin._

As the wrinkled Sorting Hat fell motionless once more, the entire hall burst into respectful applause. Lily Evans clapped with the rest of them, at the same time raising an eyebrow and knowing her sentiments were shared by many of the other students. Elsewhere in the Great Hall, people were being less discreet; murmurs and whispers punctuated the applause as students at all four tables turned to their neighbors to comment on the song.

"The old hat got some new material," said Sirius Black, glancing sideways at his friends.

"I'll say," replied James.

James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, otherwise known as the Marauders, were sitting at the far end of the table nearest the doors. It was tradition as well as a survival technique that dictated their choice of seat. One could only stay to admire the handywork of a prank for so long before having to run away from a fuming McGonagall.

"But why now?" asked Peter. "I mean, for years all it sang about was the different houses. Its never given advice before, has it?"

"I read that the hat gave warnings before, from time to time, when it felt like the school was in danger," said Remus, looking rather apprehensive. "I reckon it's warning us about Voldemort."

"Hogwarts in danger?" Peter said skeptically; all the same, uneasiness tinged his words.

"Of course not." James was confident. "We've got Dumbledore, and there are protective enchantments all around the castle. Besides, haven't we always said the hat's a bit crazy? Imagine spending three hundred and sixty four days just sitting in an office and thinking up a new song. It's enough to drive anything mad and —"

But then Professor McGonagall's burning gaze swept across the Gryffindor table, causing even James Potter to fall silent. With one last sweeping stern look, the Transfiguration professor cleared her throat and called out the first name. The Sorting had begun.

"Ackerly, Michael!"

Out of the timid looking group of eleven year olds came strutting forward a tall boy with slick black hair; Professor McGonagall had barely to touch the hat to the boy's head before a deafening "SLYTHERIN!" was heard.

The Marauders clapped politely with the other Gryffindors as Michael Ackerly sauntered over to the table at the opposite side of the hall. Several Slytherins, including fifth year prefect Regulus Black, enthusiastically welcomed their new housemate, at which point Sirius pointedly looked away at the next sorting (Bones, Edward; "RAVENCLAW!").

Annabeth Jones was the first new Gryffindor to be crowned, and the entire table erupted in applause as the young girl shyly made her way to the table, looking very much like she wanted the ground to open and swallow her up just then. After sitting down next to her older sister, Hestia, and being kindly welcomed by Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon, and many others, though, Annabeth's expression brightened up greatly.

Gradually the line of eleven year olds dwindled down, until "Yen, Hamish" was sorted into Ravenclaw and Professor Dumbledore got up to say a few words.

"Happy eating."

For a few seconds after the tables started groaning under the weight of all the pies, steaks, tarts and drinks that had magically appeared on them, all that could be heard was the clattering of silverware. James reached immediately for the dish of steak-and-kidney pie in front of him—Gideon Prewett beat it to him, though, and happily piled the largest serving onto his plate.

"Good to see you again, mate."

_(Potions Partners)_

After a lazy evening and good night's sleep full of happy memories of the welcoming-feast's food, it was time for the first day of classes. Many students woke up as late as possible and put on their robes wearily—why couldn't school just consist of meals and Quidditch matches?

The giddier students were mostly first years, some of who had waited years to start their first day of Hogwarts, ever since they'd watched an older sibling wave off from the scarlet train for the first time. A certain redhead sixth year was part of the excited group, however, as she woke up her more lethargic two roommates and pulled them to breakfast.

Alas, her enthusiasm was quickly doused soon after the first class had started.

Starting sixth year, Hogwarts students began preparation for the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests (N.E.W.T.s), the outcomes of which would open wide or slam shut future career pathways. N.E.W.T.-level coursework was considerably more difficult and definitely more time-consuming than that of previous years, and Potions coursework even more so than others; one could therefore imagine Lily Evans' shock at seeing James Potter and Sirius Black rush into the dungeon classroom Monday morning, schoolbags in hand.

"Lily, are you okay?" whispered Mary, glancing sideways at her friend. "You look you swallowed a vomit flavored Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean."

"What? No, I'm fine," said Lily, snapping her attention back to the table where she and the other Gryffindor girls were sitting. Pause. "Did you know Potter and Black were taking N.E.W.T. Potions?"

"I heard them talking about it with McGonagall this morning," said Mary, shrugging. "I guess they needed another class to fill up the mandatory five."

"But Pettigrew isn't taking this class —"

Noticing Marlene peering curiously at her, Lily frowned and said again, "What?"

"Since when do you care so much about Potter's schedule?" asked the pretty brunette.

"I don't! I just —"

"All right then," said Professor Slughorn, bumbling through the door, his great walrus mustache quivering with every word he said. "Welcome to your first N.E.W.T. Potions class! There's a great deal of material to cover this term, so let's jump right in, shall we? If everyone could partner up around a cauldron?" Slughorn walked about the classroom, sorting out his students. "Miss Flume, nice to see you in this class; how is your father? Wonderful man, wonderful man—still never forgets to send me those pineapples every year! Gilbert, Manning, don't think just because it's a new year you two can sit together. Switch partners with McKinnon and Macdonald—there you go. Mr. Fawkner, Mr. Hamilton, lovely to have you gentlemen back for another year."

There was a great deal of hustle as students moved to their new seating arrangements, and the sound of feet shuffling and collapsible cauldrons clattering echoed off the cold dungeon walls. Watching everyone else walk about with purpose, calling out each other's names, Lily felt the pit of her stomach coil itself into a knot. For five years she'd shared a cauldron with Severus Snape, the Slytherin boy who'd been her best friend since before they'd even started Hogwarts. But after the incident of last year, when he had vehemently and very publicly called her the worst name imaginable, Lily had no desire to see, talk, and much less be Potions partners with him.

As Marlene and Mary left Lily to join their assigned partners, apologetic smiles though may have been given, that knot twisted itself into a firm bowtie. Silently, Lily sorted the rest of her supplies into her bag, and closed the zipper as slowly as possible. She sighed; worst come to worst, she could always ask Slughorn if she could work alone today. It wouldn't be _that _bad. It wasn't like she actually cared about those two Ravenclaw girls staring and giggling at her behind her back. She was above that. Lily Evans did not care.

_It's better than being partnered with Severus_, she thought.

At that very moment, Severus Snape felt lost as well. Standing alone, he watched Lily—vivacious, innocent, and quite the opposite of the pale Slytherin—flounder, and for a second his feet had moved unconsciously towards her. But then Avery called him over to a cauldron and the Slytherin boy hastily averted his eyes, hoping his housemate had not noticed where he'd been looking.

"Lily!" called Remus; the two Gryffindors caught each other's eyes. "Partners, yeah?"

Snape felt jealousy bubble up as he heard those words, but on the opposite side of the room, Remus John Lupin was Lily's favorite person in the whole entire world. The knots in her stomach came undone and Lily felt a hundred pounds lighter as she shouldered her bag and walked toward her fellow Gryffindor, a grateful smile beaming on her face. Of course! Remus wouldn't have a partner either, since Pettigrew wasn't taking Potions anymore. This was wonderful. This was brilliant. This was —

"Ohohoho," said Slughorn as he rushed in front of Lily on his way to the back of the room. "Potter, Black—I remember what happened the last time you two were partners," he said, wagging his finger at the two boys who'd grabbed a cauldron together near the back. The Potions professor looked around for a second before landing his eyes on Lily, who was still paused in the middle of the classroom.

"Lily," said Slughorn with a satisfied smile that sent the stomach knots looping back into the redheaded prefect's stomach, "You're my best student. Partner with Potter; see if you can't be a good influence on him. And that leaves Black with Lupin, so everyone is ready. All right, open your copies of _Advanced Potion-Making _to page ten. We'll be starting off with the Draught of Living Death. Now it's a bit complex, so I don't expect any of you to produce a perfect potion, but there is time enough for a decent attempt. Most of the ingredients you need should be in your kits, anything else you may take from the store cupboard. Off you go then!"

Lily swallowed and turned towards James, who was avoiding eye contact. Yes. The knots were definitely back.

_(Monster Flambé)_

Lily shoved her books into her bag, and then slammed the whole thing into a tree. "Urgh!"

"Still not over Potions?" asked Marlene, grimacing at her friend's out of character violence. She grabbed her own bag and quickly followed Lily out of forest where Care of Magical Creatures class was held.

"It's been about four hours," said Lily in a voice that would have been cheerful except for the blatant sarcasm. "However the answer, dear Marlene, would be: no, I'm still not over what happened in Potions class."

"What happened in Potions class?" asked Alice Grisham, a pixie-like fifth year Gryffindor. She and her best friend, Hestia Jones, joined the girls on their walk back to the castle. They were coming back from a lazy free period by the lake.

"Slughorn partnered Lily up with Potter," said Marlene; Lily was making wild gestures at the air and looked unlikely to answer for herself. "Apparently they didn't say a word to each other the entire lesson. Their cauldron was emitting these ghastly purple fumes by the end of it—Slughorn's reaction was priceless though."

"We added twice as many sloth brains and no asphodel root at all," moaned Lily. "The only reason Slughorn didn't give us a T was because it was the first day of N.E.W.T. classes."

"And also because the poor professor is in love with Lily."

"You're taking a bit too much pleasure in my pain, McKinnon."

Marlene raised a hand in apology, but then also sneaked in: "And James is in love with Lily, too."

"Then why weren't they speaking to each other?" piped Alice.

Lily growled. "Can we _please_ talk about something other than Potter and me?"

"Alright, alright," said Marlene, grinning. "New subject—mmm, oh! What do you all think of the new Defense professor?"

"Professor Bones?" asked Alice. "Hestia and I think he's brilliant."

"Why's that?"

"Well, he's not like the other Defense teachers we've had," said Hestia. "He's not batty or pompous or anything; you can just tell he's faced the real thing before, not just Dark creatures or common criminals. He's an ex-auror, I heard."

"And ex-aurors aren't batty or pompous?" remarked Alice, remembering certain long nights at Slug Club dinners.

"You know what I mean, Grisham," retorted Hestia, lightly elbowing her friend in the side.

Alice giggled but then nodded to agree with Hestia. "She's right, Bones does seem like a proper Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I heard even the first years had a practical class."

"Yeah, Annabeth was really excited about it during lunch," said Hestia. "We're Muggleborn and I'm not allowed to do magic outside of school, so the only magic she's ever seen is the accidental stuff we did as children. Coming here, seeing a real proper wizard—she nearly couldn't eat because of the excitement."

"You and your sister seem close," commented Lily.

"We were both homeschooled, because our magic would come out at the most inconvenient times," said Hestia, shrugging and smiling at once, "So we were each other's best friends." Then she laughed. "Our parents are still waiting for us to start pulling each other's hair and stealing each other's stuff, though, as sisters are ought to do."

Lily smiled, like she was supposed to do, but then chewed on her lower lip as she inwardly sighed about her and her own sister's relationship, mainly the part where Petunia hated everything about Lily's world and thought magic was a big freak show. It hadn't used to be that way. Petunia and she had been close before Lily had started Hogwarts... before Lily had met Severus.

Suddenly a piercing scream echoed from across the grounds.

Hestia's face darkened with the realization of where the scream had come from. "Alice, my sister! The first years just finished Herbology—"

"Hestia, don't worry, Professor Sprout will take care of the students," said Alice, trying to calm her friend down. But it was too late; Hestia had already started running.

"She always does that," muttered Alice, even while taking her wand out from under her robes. "Hestia, wait up!"

Lily and Marlene glanced at each other for only a second before taking off as well.

The Herbology gardens were near Hagrid's hut, but before the girls went down that far they saw a group of Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors trapped by the cliff face, staring in horror as something enormous stalked down more of their classmates. Lily gasped in shock as she followed their gaze towards the lakefront.

The monster looked like a huge spider, with dark red bristles all over its body and four beady eyes staring out of the middle of its head, if you could call it a head. But it wasn't a spider, not even an Acromantula. No—it moved to fast; was too big; and the gigantic clubs at the end of each of its five legs were definitely not of arachnid descent.

Lily spotted Annabeth at the same time Hestia did. The young Gryffindor was trembling in fear on the beach, caught between the cold lake and the approaching beast. She and several others had their wands out, but there was little the first years could do except shoot a few sparks.

"Annabeth!" Hestia cried out. She reached for her wand only to remember that she'd left it in her dorm that day, not wanting to carry around any extra luggage. "God damn it, Grisham let me borrow your wand!"

Hearing her sister, Annabeth looked up, her round blue eyes silently shouting "Save me!" even as she was too terrified to speak.

"Hestia," said Lily, taking in the situation, "You can't do much with a borrowed wand. Round up the students by the cliff and take them back up to the castle. Marlene and I will distract the monster."

"But my sister," repeated Hestia, "She's stuck over there with —"

"I know." Lily looked the older witch straight in the eye. "But you've got to trust me, Hestia. We'll save her."

For a moment it looked as if Hestia was going to protest, but then she nodded. Perhaps she realized this wasn't the time to argue, or maybe it was something's in Lily's eyes, but Hestia grabbed Alice's hand and ran, shouting "First years, with us! Don't worry, we're prefects!" (Well, Alice was; but who was checking for badges when there was a giant spider running amok?).

"Are you sure we can do this, Lily?" asked Marlene, looking wearily from the enormous monster to the comparatively flimsy wand in her hand.

Her only reply was "Distract it!"

Marlene sighed. She had a feeling she was going to regret this later, but what could she do? There were first years in danger, and her friend was already running towards lake. "Oy, four-eyes! _Stupefy!"_

A jet of red light flashed from Marlene's wand and hit the monster square on, but it seemingly had no effect except to make the beast angrier. Marlene gulped as the five-legged monstrosity started scuttling toward her at an alarming pace—well, she _had_ distracted it. "Lily!"

_ "Petrificus Totalus!"_

That spell seemed to have greater results, and the girls sighed in relief. They both ran over to where the younger Gryffindors were trembling in fear, although, as even eleven-year-old boys will, some were pretending that they hadn't been scared at all. Then one of them screamed. On the beach, pincers had started slowly chomping, and in a second the legs were waving again as well.

"Marlene, take them to the castle!" shouted Lily, shooting another Full Body-Bind Curse at the monster while also hurriedly rushing the terrified first years out of the lake. "And alert the professors!"

Even as Marlene followed Lily's instructions, though, the latter froze up. _Why did I just say that?_ Lily scrambled with her thoughts. _Marlene's the athletic one. She plays Quidditch; she's the one with all the fast reflexes and stuff. She dodges Bludgers on a daily basis, and I, well, I trip and do stupid things like this!_

Still, with a last look to check that Marlene and the first years had gotten to safety, Lily turned bravely back to the monster, which had gotten back on its feet.

_A spell, say a spell Lily. Any spell, just hurry!_

_ "Confringo!"_

Flames burst over her target's body, as use of the Blasting Curse would entail, but now Lily realized she shouldn't have said just _any_ spell. A giant monster was still running towards her… but now it was on fire too. She tried another Stunning spell, but it didn't work. A Leg-Locker curse? No. Oh no. This was it. She was going to die right there, wasn't she? There was going to be a memorial conjured over this very spot, engraved with the words '_Here lies Lily Evans. Gryffindor, prefect and'—_

_Don't write a eulogy, think of another spell!_

_ "Impedimenta!"_

_That's a good spell_, thought Lily weakly. Her wand, however, was still hanging limply by her side.

Then the caster of the jinx held out his hand to Lily, and she was frozen again in shock. She'd expected Marlene to have come back to help her, or maybe a professor, but least of all she'd expected _him_.

"Stunning spells on three!" shouted another voice. "One!"

"C'mon, Evans," growled James.

_ Right. The monster flambé._

Lily nodded mutely as she followed James' lead and raised her wand. It would be better to ask questions later, thought Lily. Besides, he didn't much look like he was in a talking mood—he wasn't even looking at her.

"Two!"

Both James and Lily raised their wands.

"Three!"

_"Stupefy!"_ Five streams of red light collided on the five-legged beast, and with a blood-curdling shriek it finally collapsed on the ground. Lily let out a sigh of relief, fighting the urge to drop to the ground herself.

"Nice going setting it on fire, Evans." Sirius grinned as he walked over to the monster. He'd been the one counting down. "Moony, help me set this thing out?"

"Yeah. You all right, Lily?" asked Remus as he appeared from behind a rock. He joined Sirius in dousing the stunned creature.

"I'm fine," she replied, blinking as Peter Pettigrew also emerged into the clearing.

"Are you sure?" James asked gruffly.

"Yes, I'm sure," she said, although she did feel a bit disoriented by the sudden appearance of the Marauders. "Just suffering from post-traumatic stress, that's all."

James stared blankly at her.

"I'm fine," Lily said again. She felt a blush creep up on her cheeks.

A sudden rush of footsteps made the five of them look up as Professor McGonagall swept into the clearing. She was followed by an unfamiliar male professor, who must have been Professor Bones, and Marlene, who looked rather apprehensive of the whole situation.

"Hullo Professor," said Peter after a brief silence. The sandy-haired Marauder waved cheerfully. "We caught the monster for you!"

"What on earth were you thinking?" said Professor McGonagall, ice burning in her voice. She stared down the six Gryffindors. "Mr. Black?"

Sirius readjusted himself in the hard wooden chair; a chair he was well used to. "I dunno, Professor," he said, "We heard screaming and thought we'd better go help."

"And what exactly were you all doing by the lake at that time? Supper had already started."

This one was easy to answer. "We were walking back from Care of Magical Creatures," said Peter. "Professor Kettleburn kept me after class to talk about my O.W.L. grade," said Peter, "the other boys were just waiting for me."

"And what about you two; Ms. McKinnon, Ms. Evans?"

"We were walking back from that class too," replied Marlene. "Lily left a book behind so we had to go back."

"But why wouldn't you run for a professor instead of trying to face yourselves? You could have been killed," said McGonagall, pressing her lips into a thin frown.

"Well from afar it only looked like an enlarged spider," said Remus, "We didn't think it'd be that dangerous."

"Yeah!" added Sirius. "I mean, we beat it, didn't we?"

Professor McGonagall was neither amused by nor accepting of the Marauder's quips, and her gaze turned even icier, if that were possible. "You must know by now what Hogwarts' rules are, Mr. Black. A violation this serious—after repeated offenses—the consequences are more than detention; I have to cut prefect privileges, free periods, Quidditch."

"Quidditch?" cried out Marlene and James.

Then a small voice came out from the corner.

"Professor," said Lily, raising her hand like she was answering a question in class. "It wasn't their fault. I'm the one who ran after the monster. They just came to save me."

"_You_ started this?" asked the professor, skeptic.

"Yes, Professor," said Lily, her conviction increasing with each word. "There were first years in trouble. And I thought I could handle it, because well, I mean I did get an 'O' on my Care of Magical Creatures O.W.L..." She ventured a smile.

McGonagall's furiousness would not be appeased, although there was a wryness to her voice now. "Well it would be more prudent to have the same achievement at N.E.W.T. level, Ms. Evans, the next time you try to battle a Quintaped!"

"That was a Quintaped?" exclaimed Remus, his eyes widening as he sat bolt right in his chair. "But they're Class Five-X monsters! How did one get into Hogwarts?"

"That's exactly what Professor Dumbledore and I would like to know, Mr. Lupin," said the professor, looking gravely through her spectacles at her students. She let them sit in silence for a while—the Marauders had been in her office far too many times for her to still believe that lecturing would work. "At the time, Professor Sprout was working with mandrakes in greenhouse two and would not have made it to the scene soon enough to save the first years," the elder witch finally said, conceding some ground, "So five points each for your bravery."

The sixth years sans Lily grinned at each other.

"However," Professor McGonagall continued, "Fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor for your sheer stupidity and utter disregard of emergency procedures!"

"But that means we've lost twenty points!" protested Sirius.

"Be grateful it is not more, Mr. Black," said McGonagall. "I could be taking fifty points each!"

Sirius gulped and shut his mouth. Three hundred points lost was not something he wanted to be responsible for on any day.

"Ms. Evans," McGonagall turned her gaze to the young prefect. "You'll be facing detention every Thursday night for the next month. I expected better from you."

Lily bowed her head. "I'm sorry, Professor."

"Professor," said Remus, taking advantage of the following silence to try again. "Quintapeds are only found on the Isle of Drear. If one got onto Hogwarts… that can only mean someone brought it here on purpose. There are rumors going around, about how some of the student's families agree with Voldemort —"

"The headmaster and myself are perfectly aware of that, Mr. Lupin," replied the teacher, "But if you and your friends could please try to refrain from accusing Slytherins over breakfast in the Great Hall, no matter how guilty you think they may be."

"Stand together, be wary of fighting within," quoted Remus, remembering the Sorting Hat's warning.

"I am glad some of you paid attention to the sorting." McGonagall's words were droll but her voice solemn. "Go—all of you," she said, "There are still a few minutes before supper is cleared."

There was a scraping of chairs across the worn wooden floor as the sixth-years exited the office, their joy at getting off with just losing twenty points dampened by the disconcerting weariness of their stern Transfiguration professor by the end of it. Lily, her long hair guarding her from the stares of the Marauders, was the last out.

The silence ended as soon as they were out of McGonagall's earshot.

Less than a few paces from her office door, James suddenly came to a standstill and said, "Evans, a word."

"Talk," came the reply—the owner of the voice kept walking. "I can hear you just fine."

"A word alone?" asked James, his voice low.

"No," said Lily. She knew she sounded unreasonable but she didn't care; all she wanted was to take a warm shower and go to sleep, and besides, there was another reason she didn't exactly want to be caught out alone with Potter.

"Padfoot," James looked over Lily's head to his friends behind her, "You and the others go ahead."

"No," repeated Lily, louder. "It's been a long day, Potter. I don't want to hear anything that you wouldn't say in front of your mates and Marlene."

But the other Gryffindors were already gone, and as James walked into an empty classroom, Lily found herself reluctantly following him. She sighed. Maybe she shouldn't have been so stubborn—and mean. She'd been stubborn and mean and he hadn't done anything to deserve it…yet, at least.

All thoughts of apologizing to James, however, flew out of Lily's head when she saw who was in classroom she'd walked into. In the corner were seventh year Ravenclaw Derek Fletcher and his rumored Hufflepuff girlfriend Jenny O'Hair. Lily cursed the person (Marlene) who had included the word rumored in their description of the couple, although whatever description she'd been given still wouldn't have prepared her for the sight of her ex-boyfriend furiously undoing the buttons of another girl's clothes.

"Derek?" The name girlishly slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it.

Thankfully he didn't hear her, although for some reason Lily felt even worse because of it. She panicked as she felt her eyes mist up. No, she would not deal with this right now—could not deal with this right now. Damn it, it was too much for one night!

"Fletcher, O'Hair!" Lily tried to shout, but her voice came out in a squeak. They didn't hear her again, and she floundered, not knowing what to do.

"Fletcher, O'Hair!" barked James—his voice they heard. "Out!"

Finally realizing they'd been caught, the two seventh years ruefully glared at the Marauder while stepping out. Neither spared a second for Lily, whose cheeks were now as red as her hair.

James glanced at Lily, and for a moment the brooding hostility he'd directed at Lily ever since school had started was replaced by a gentle worry. "I'm sorry, Evans," he said, cautiously taking a step toward her. "I didn't know they were in this room, honest."

"Save it, Potter," snapped Lily. "I'm going back to the Common Room."

"Hang on," said James loudly, anger flashing back into his eyes. "I'm trying to apologize to you."

"Well you didn't know who was in here so there's no need for you to apologize," replied Lily.

"Then maybe it's you who should apologize."

Beat.

Lily's eyes narrowed. Fighting with Potter—it was all too familiar ground that she didn't want to cover just then. So when the redhead spoke again, she was obviously trying to stay calm. "What did you want to talk about, Potter?"

James stepped back, Lily's sudden change of tone setting him off balance. He soon got a grip on himself, though, and said, darkly, "I don't owe you anything."

"What?" Lily asked, exasperation outweighing her confusion.

"You heard me," said James, venomously. "I don't care that you took the fall for us back there. You and me—we're over, Evans. I don't owe you anything anymore. Next time you need saving, don't expect me to do it."

"It was my fall to take, everything I told McGonagall was true," protested Lily. "And for the record I never asked you to save me from that Quintaped—you were the last person on earth I expected to save me. In case you haven't noticed, you've been ignoring me ever since we came back to school!"

"Because that's what you asked me to do in your damn letter!"

Beat.

It was Lily's turn to step back as James let the words hang in the air. This was the first time either of them had acknowledged what had happened that summer.

"You're acting like such a child," Lily finally said, a quiet fury in her voice. "Can't you put things in the past? You're right, there is nothing between us. So why can't you just leave me alone?"

"You think I haven't tried?" countered James, an incredulous look on his face. "Damn it, Evans—why are you so damn oblivious?"

"You're the one who kept bullying Severus," she pressed, choosing not to dwell on what James might have actually meant. "You're the one who keeps starting these fights."

"You're the one who showed up drunk on my doorstep!" shouted James. "Don't try to put this all on me, Evans. I'm sick and tired of being the punching bag for your fucking mood swings. The next time you want to play at Andromeda, don't expect me to be your Perseus and save you!"

"I'm not _playing_ damsel in distress, Potter!" retorted Lily, fists clenched in whiteness. Through gritted teeth, she sighed and said, "I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry for screwing everything up this summer. I made a mistake, and I'm sorry. That's what you wanted to hear in the first place, wasn't it?"

"You're impossible, Evans," said James, though his scoff lacked its usual arrogance.

"And you're—" Lily paused. "Never mind. If we're done here, I'd like to go back up to the Common Room now."

"You're going to leave no matter what I say anyway," said James, quieter. His dark hazel eyes pierced Lily's green.

Final beat.

"You're right," she said. And with that, Lily turned away from the sixteen-year-old boy with messy black hair and shoved open the door.


	2. The Night Before

Chapter 2

"_The Night Before"_

"Remember Halloween?"

"How could I forget?"

"What about August?

"To be honest, I've tried to forget about August."

"Why?"

"Because it was embarrassing!"

"It was when it all started."

"It was stupid."

"Well—yeah, but still. Do you really not remember?"

"Of course I do silly. I was walking barefoot and my hair was a mess."

"You were watching the stars. I knew I was a goner when I saw you watching the stars. Remember April?

"Mmm, I'll always remember April. Remember December?"

"Which one?"

"All of them."

"Yeah. We should take Harry this year."

* * *

><p><em>(August 22, 1996)<em>

James lay on his bed, tossing a Quaffle into the air and catching it for what seemed like the hundredth time. His mother disapproved of the habit, she said he'd break his glasses and blind himself one day, but James was apt to do it anyway when he was bored.

And just then, James was very bored. For him, September 1st couldn't come fast enough. He missed Hogwarts. He missed Quidditch; he missed the squishy armchairs in the Gryffindor Common Room; he missed playing pranks on Filch; damn it he even missed his classes and professors. He didn't miss the Marauders though—no, to admit he missed them would be to admit he hadn't written to or seen Sirius all summer.

The next time he caught the red Quaffle, James held on to it and sat up to stare once again at the letter sitting on his desk. It was from Remus, who was vacationing with family in Ireland at the moment. The long letter was breezy, but James knew his friend better than that. Moony had probably gone through several Sugar Quills as he wrote paragraph after paragraph about ancient Celtic warlocks, using up parchment and time until he finally whipped up the resolve to slip in at the very end what he'd wanted to say all along.

_Ireland's brilliant, but I'll be back for Friday. I think Wormy's really looking forward to it. Padfoot too—he said he wouldn't miss it, even if his bloody dad had put anti-apparation charms around the house. _

_He asked about you, Prongs. Have you written to him recently? Regulus got made prefect, so Padfoot's probably been sulking and sticking up more Gryffindor banners in his room all summer. It's a good thing we're all meeting up on Friday—any longer with just his family and I think he'd do something stupid…_

He bought a flying motorbike, but more on that later.

_… Anyway, hope you're having a good summer. Haven't heard from you much, but no matter, because I'll see you on Friday, __right?__ of course. 9 o'clock sharp—remember that. See you then!_

_Cheers,_

_Moony_

The letter had been sent Monday. It was Thursday night now, and James had read and reread those last three paragraphs until he could recite the words by memory. Sometimes he still stared at the piece of parchment, though, as if deciphering the meanings hidden between the lines of Remus' loopy handwriting could somehow help James understand his own thoughts.

Remus so rarely asked for anything, and what he received he tried to repay in threefold. So when he wrote about Friday as if it was a certain plan, James felt morally obligated to go along with it. Still, James was angry. He didn't know why though—he was just angry, which made him feel even worse. He was angry with Sirius, which was understandable if annoying, and angry with Remus, which made him feel horrible because Remus hadn't done anything wrong. And he was angry with Peter because, well, the youngest Marauder seemed to be fine while James himself was feeling terrible.

Meeting up the last Friday before school started was a tradition with the boys—it was a ritual. So why did James still not know whether he wanted to go or not?

With a frustrated yell, James thrust the Quaffle at the wall across from him. It hurtled toward a framed photo of him and his friends, but bounced off the wall an inch above the image with a dull _thunk_. The ball had hit exactly where James had aimed.

It was an old photo of them from fourth year—James could quite clearly remember the day it'd been taken. He was still wearing his Quidditch robes, Sirius' and Peter's faces were painted scarlet and gold, and even Remus had on a large lion's hat. All four boys were wearing wide grins on their faces, as Gryffindor had just won the Quidditch Cup. Some Hufflepuff had been taking pictures after the match, and Sirius had gathered them all up "to save the memory for posterity." Later, though, he'd laughed ruefully and told James it was also to flaunt in front of Regulus. The photographer had disappeared amidst the frenzy later, but Remus had somehow managed to procure the snapshot and frame it for his friends.

James pounded the wall again. They were Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs—why wouldn't this bloody problem just go away?

Maybe a walk in the night air would do him some good.

James grabbed a cloak off the back of his chair, and after quickly peeking out into the hall to check that the light in his parent's bedroom was out, opened his window. There was a large branching tree that crossed directly in front of it, and he had learned to shimmy down it even before a curfew had necessitated use of the escape.

Plus, the main staircase creaked, and James preferred to sneak out with class.

_(Godric's Hollow)_

Godric's Hollow was one of those places Muggle therapists suggested stressed patients visit. The gold digging shrinks would swear the country air did bundles of good—in truth it was likely the leaking effects of health and luck enchantments cast in multitude across the village. After the Statute of Secrecy had been passed in the late 17th century, masses of wizards and witches had collectively withdrawn to the area. Hence it wasn't that uncommon to see owl's flying about in broad daylight or mysterious colored fumes rising out of chimneys—the Ministry had tried in vain to curb it, but eventually the Muggles had come up with their own roundabout explanations for the town's "charming quirks," and Godric's Hollow had become one of the last havens for the English wizarding community.

True to the wizarding population's old-fashioned nature, many of the brick houses retained the elegant Victorian towers and Gothic arches long out of style in modern cities. Contrarily, the gardens, overflowing with asphodel flowers, wormwood trees, and other potion ingredients, were eccentric at best and messy at worst. Most people found them somewhere in the middle. Lily found them quaint, and rather liked them—so did James. They wouldn't know that about each other for quite some time though.

At this very moment, Lily Evan's heart rate was racing as she contemplated for the tenth consecutive time in as many minutes whether to knock on the door or not. She didn't remember exactly _how_ she knew this was the Potters' home, but here she was, standing in front of it at two in the morning.

The story of how she'd ended up there was something Lily would laugh at in the future, but that night especially there was no humor to it at all. The emotions running through her head ranged from hurt and sad about breaking up with her boyfriend; confused about the circumstances it had been under; angry that he'd left her stranded in Godric's Hollow; self-indignant that she'd been brought to this point; qualmish at the thought of actually knocking on James Potter's door, even if it only was to ask to borrow a broom; scared because she knew her only other option was to spend the night in the streets; and slightly nauseous from all those feelings churning inside her but also because she'd had her first (and second, and third) taste of firewhiskey that night. And in the corner of her brain, crowded by all the more daunting thoughts but firmly staking it's territory nevertheless, was thrill over having this small sort of adventure.

For Lily, nowhere in the mix of any of those feelings was the urge to laugh or even chuckle about the situation she was in just then. But when they told the story together for the first time, she wouldn't be surprised at just how much James laughed. By then she would know that laughter was how James dealt with turmoil inside his head. It wasn't a show, or a defensive play; it was just how he dealt with the harder things in life. Humor didn't make light of the situation; it helped him sort things out in his own way, organizing thoughts in the most positive way possible so that he wouldn't drown in them.

The second time they mulled over the story, nearly two years later through a quiet conversation in an empty Gryffindor Common Room, she'd find out exactly what James had been thinking. But witching hour on August 23, 1976, Lily was too flustered to deduce anything. She didn't know that James had spent the last three nights and this one wandering the perimeter of Godric's Hollow because he couldn't sleep. She didn't notice that the shadow of the lamppost by the front gate had suddenly changed shape, like a lanky sixteen year-old boy had decided to duck behind it, not knowing what else to do. She didn't hear the quickening _thump thump thump_ of his heart, either, although he was sure it was loud enough for the whole village to hear. She didn't realize his head was about to burst as he grappled with bewilderment, elation, amusement, and weariness. And she didn't know that her hair burned a breathtaking bright auburn under the porch light, or that when James finally spoke, it was because it felt like his stomach was going to jump out of his throat otherwise.

"Hello Evans."

She did know it had been a bad idea to wear such high heels.

"Potter!" Lily spun around to stare at the wizard, wobbling slightly on the uncomfortable shoes (how Petunia manage to get around in them, Lily could not fathom). She gestured confusedly at the door, and house, behind her. "You live in there."

"Yes," said James, bounding up the porch stairs to stand next to her.

"I didn't knock on the door yet." Lily made this statement as much to herself as to James.

"No," he replied. The corners of his eyes crinkled in a half-moon curve. "I thought I'd save you the trouble and time. It's two in the morning, Evans."

"I know that, do you know that?" asked Lily. "What are you doing outside at two in the morning?"

"I was taking a walk," James said. "You?"

"I was…" Lily stuttered, then crossed her arms. "Same as you, taking a walk."

"In Godric's Hollow?" James raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you lived here."

"Maybe I just took a very, very long walk."

Lily didn't know why she said that. This was a time to be civil, not cheeky.

Thankfully, James seemed to find it amusing, although his chuckle was more acerbic than Lily had expected. Obstinately not saying a word even as her cheeks slowly grew redder and redder, Lily chanced a look at her Hogwarts nemesis. He looked older than she remembered. Under the porch light, she could see the circles under his eyes, and when he ran a hand through his hair, it seemed more weary than vain. She was suddenly very aware that this—coming to ask James Potter for help—had been a horrendously bad idea. This was his home. She was trespassing, encroaching on what should be his refuge, the place where he was most himself and vulnerable. Lily Evans had no right to be here.

James was thinking very far from those lines, namely that he only had seven hours left to decide if he would meet up with the Marauders, and whether Lily being here was a good thing for him or not. They'd ended fifth year on relatively good terms, compared to right after their Defense O.W.L. anyway. He'd apologized, she'd said some stuff too, they'd shaken hands and waved goodbye; he thought they'd both been very mature about it all. Still, at this moment James was tired and preoccupied, so his next sentence came off a bit like this:

"No offense, Evans, but what the hell are you doing here? If this is something where you're going to mouth off at me about Snape, or…"

"Oh, no! It's nothing like that," Lily hurriedly exclaimed, shaking her hands to accentuate that point. "I just… I'm in a bit of a bind, and you're the only person I thought could help."

"Good," said James, taking a step back as the full effect of what Lily had said washed over him. "I mean, good because I'm not exactly in the mood to be yelled at right now, not good because you're in a bind. Because being in a bind isn't good, it's horrible, and…"

"Are you in a bind too, James?" the redhead asked quietly. Her eyes, normally as sharp and bright as the jewels they resembled, gazed softly at the black-haired boy.

That caught James off guard again, but he quickly recovered and flashed a smirk. "Well you could say I'm in a bit of a pickle. Lily Evans just called me by my first name and now I don't know whether to call her 'Lily,' or 'Evans,' or 'darling flower.'"

"I only called you James," countered Lily, snapping back, "because I thought the usage of first names might push our… fractious relationship to the level where we can ask each other for favors."

Both were full of bullshit. Neither, exemplary Gryffindors though they may have been, was brave enough to call the bluff.

"You needed my help, Evans?" James finally said.

"Yes," said Lily, taking a breath. This next part she had rehearsed. "I was wondering if I could borrow a broom. The person who side-along apparated me here didn't send me back home by the same manner, so basically I'm stranded here unless I could, like I said, borrow a broom."

"Hang on," said James, his eyebrows scrunching as he tried to make sense of the situation. "Someone just left you here, alone, in the middle of the night with no way to get home? It's dangerous, haven't you—you were out with Fletcher, weren't you?"

"What makes you say that?" asked Lily, frowning.

"It was a logical conclusion," said James. "Apparating means that the person was a seventh year."

"And Derek Fletcher is the only seventh year I know?"

"The only seventh year you'd be out late at night with dressed like that," corrected James, raising an eyebrow.

"It's called a sundress!"

"It's called showing off your legs."

"Stop staring at my legs, Potter."

"I wasn't. Why, do you want me too?"

"I just said," Lily huffed and crossed her arms. "Fine, you were right. I was out with Derek, and… the date didn't end well."

"That's still no excuse to leave you stranded," said James.

"If you must know," said Lily, feeling like she should be more annoyed at James than she actually was, "I didn't give him much choice."

James' expression suddenly brightened and he leaned forward on the balls of his feet, excited. "Did you hex him? Oh tell me you hexed him, Evans. That bloke just really needs a good Bat Bogey Hex to the face."

"I didn't hex him, Potter," said Lily.

"Did you at least yell at him, then?"

"Well, I—," Lily looked up at the sky so James wouldn't see the smile creeping up on her face. He was acting like a five year-old who'd just been told Christmas had come early. "I might have yelled a little."

"Yes!" James exclaimed and punched the air in front of him. His antics finally broke Lily's resolve and got a real grin out of her, which made both of them feel suddenly self-aware. Neither could remember the last time they had laughed together, unadulterated with sarcasm or baleful glares.

"So, about the broom, Potter?" Lily said.

"Oh, yeah, of course you can borrow one," said James, nodding his head. "Wait here."

Lily nodded silently and watched James run off toward the back of the house. She let out a sigh of relief as he disappeared around the corner, allowing herself to finally take in the complete situation and let it sink in. This was good—her plan, although not enacted fully to its original specifications, had been a success. Potter was going to lend her his broom, she would fly back home before her parents found out she was missing, and then her problems would be neither here nor there until September 1. Now what she would do when school started again would require a whole new plan, thought Lily, but that could wait till morning.

Besides, there were stars to see tonight.

Ever since Lily had been a little girl she'd been enraptured by the stars. It was hard to see them in Cokeworth, where the smog of the city and numerous street lamps clouded the sky—a fact she tended to deplore to anyone who might listen. It all really fell back to her love of reading, and the Olympian mythology and medieval love stories that had prevailed throughout her childhood. Lily Evans was a romantic, and had grown even more so with age. She loved the picturesque lake by the comparatively dingy Railview Hotel, with its abundance of overgrown ivy and patches of wildflowers. She adored the vintage prints and flowing skirts of the 50's her mother would sometimes wear. She clung to the Beatles when all her friends had moved on to Pink Floyd, and she loved watching the stars. To her, the stars were untouched gems, surviving remnants of times past when lovers would meet under the gaze of Venus or weary warriors would follow the Little Bear home. And the stars were shining brightly, glowing, undimmed, over the streets of Godric's Hollow. Taking off her heels, Lily smiled and raised her arms to the sky, feeling her feet glide into the motions of an unrehearsed dance. But that was the best type of dance, because its steps were pure and the product of unabashed bliss. The stars were beautiful tonight.

She was beautiful.

James watched in silence, a soft smile unconsciously on his face as he leaned against the dark shelter of a tall oak tree. He had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that it was wrong to stare so blatantly at a girl. More obviously, he knew in his head that he shouldn't be feeling this way about Evans. Not again, not anymore. She'd made it perfectly clear last June that even with Snape no longer her friend, she would never reciprocate any of the feelings James had harbored for her since the beginning of fourth year. But there she was, dancing in the starlight, feet moving delicately to the tune of a song James could not hear.

"Evans," James called out, finally emerging into the open garden. He held out the broom, his very own Nimbus 1000, at arm's length in front of him, like a talisman against the silly thumping of his heart. "Here," he said, thrusting the broom towards her.

Lily stopped mid-spin when she heard James' voice, and stumbled a bit until he reached out with one hand to steady her. Both cleared their throats nervously as they moved back into the right positions—James standing upright, feet apart and back straight, and Lily with her feet crisscrossed and arms hanging nervously behind her back. Her cheeks were still flushed and her lips were still smiling, but James could see the reverie fading from her eyes and he knew he was the cause of it. So he said nothing, because grasping for words would only push her further away.

"Thank you," finally said Lily, stammering out words, any words, she could think of to fill the empty space between them. She took the broom, which James was still dumbly holding out in front of him, careful to grab a part of the handle far away from its owner's hand. "I'll owl this back to you tomorrow, I guess."

"Yeah, sure," replied James, although he wasn't really aware of what he was saying. He was remembering the girl twirling under the stars and trying to block out the _thump thump thump_ that had returned to his heart.

"Alright then," said Lily, offering a shy smile in thanks. She turned the polished wooden broom right side up in her hands but hesitated in mounting it, suddenly very aware that James Potter, star Chaser of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, was watching her.

"Wait, Evans," called James. He'd been mentally preparing himself for the last minute to give the redhead a cheeky salute goodbye, but something she'd said earlier was still bothering him. "What happened between you and Fletcher tonight?"

"That's none of your business, Potter," said Lily, blushing bright red. A bit of the familiar enmity was back in her eyes.

"No it actually is," said James. He took the broom back out of Lily's hands and held it behind his back, raising it out of reach when she snatched for it. "This is a Nimbus 1000; I can't let someone who's emotionally unstable and maybe a little bit tipsy just fly off with it."

"I am not tipsy," Lily retorted.

"You're talking too fast, stumbling," said James, narrowing his eyes.

"So I'm a high strung and clumsy person. I'm quite aware of that, Potter."

"Your eyes are glossy, pupils are constricted, you're not aware of your surroundings at all," continued James. "And you didn't notice I'd taken back the broom until five seconds after it'd happened."

"What's your point, Potter," snapped Lily.

"I'm asking what happened between you and Fletcher tonight."

"Nothing!"

James shook his head. "It's two in the morning, Evans, and you're drunk. I'd say I'm not trying to be nosy but I bloody well am, and if you don't tell me what happened I'm going to ask Fletcher myself."

"No!" shouted Lily, hair flying in her indignation. "It's not a big deal, okay Potter? Just let it go!"

"How can I when all I'm thinking about is what might have happened, huh? You and your boyfriend out late at night, drinking. And then you said it didn't end well," flung back James.

"It wasn't," stammered Lily; her cheeks were the same color as her hair now. "It wasn't like that."

"Then tell me what it was," said James, "Because I have a long list of hexes I want to try and right now Fletcher's sounding like the perfect subject."

"No, he," started Lily. She sighed. "I snuck out to meet Derek, alright? We had a late dinner, he took me to a bar, and… I guess he thought I'd had a few more drinks than I'd actually had when he took off his pants."

"So it's exactly like I thought it was," said James, after a pause.

"Why were you so angry then if you thought that was all it was?" asked Lily

"Because it still was what it still was," replied James, his tone signaling how obvious he thought his statement was. "I know you can take care of yourself, Evans, but Fletcher's still a slimy bastard."

"Potter, I appreciate the chivalry, but the only person who's going to be hexing Derek Fletcher is me."

"But you didn't hex him."

"But I will."

"But you didn't."

"I wasn't in my right mind just then, alright?"

"So you're going to hex him when you see him at Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"Good, because I'm going to want to watch that."

And then both Lily and James both couldn't help but crack a smile, because the situation was just too unbelievable.

"I'm sorry," said James, ducking his head and glancing hesitantly at the redhead in front of him.

"No it's, it's fine," replied Lily, the corners of her lips still curled softly upward. "If anything I should be thanking you. You cared enough about me to be an annoying pain in the arse, and I think I really needed that."

"Well you know me, always happy to be of service." James chuckled, his clear voice ringing through the empty street. "So Lily Evans—" he continued, shaking his head with exaggerated motions, "—Gryffindor prefect and potions extraordinaire, got drunk. I'm impressed."

"I didn't get drunk," insisted Lily jokingly, suddenly feeling much lighter, like a huge weight had been taken off her chest. "I was inebriated."

"It means the same thing, you know," said James.

"Yes," said Lily, daintily taking James' Nimbus out of his loose hands, "but it sounds so much more elegant. Don't tell everyone at school now, will you though? I've got a reputation to maintain."

"What, you expect me to keep this to myself?" asked James, faking incredulousness. "But my mates would get such kicks out of it."

"Oh all right," said Lily. "Just leave out the bit about Fletcher. In fact, tell them about everything except Fletcher. Tell them about the taking forever to knock on your door, and the two in morning, and the sundress—"

"And the dancing?"

"And the dancing," repeated Lily, grinning in spite of herself. "Maybe laughing about me, you guys can get past whatever idiotic stubbornness is stopping you all from being friends."

"Oh, you know about that then?" asked James, his tone abruptly subdued.

"I think all of Hogwarts knows," she said. Lily spoke softly, changing her tone to match James'. "Look, Potter, I don't know exactly what happened in the Shrieking Shack that night, or who is really in the wrong. But I do know that Remus misses his friends."

"You've written to him?"

"Yeah." Lily paused, and then spoke again, leaning on the advantage she hoped she'd gained. "There are times, in the past five years, that I wished you four weren't friends. Like when you'd use Remus' position as a prefect for your own good, or when you and Sirius would make it your own personal mission to disrupt Potions classes. But there were also times, after I'd quarreled with Marlene or Severus, that I'd look at you guys, and…"

"And what?" James said, pushing Lily to continue.

"All of you would huddled up around the fire, planning your next escapade or even just talking, and as cheesy as it sounds," Lily crossed her arms in defense as her tone signaled she giving in, "it'd be like my faith in friendship was restored."

"Your faith in friendship?" repeated James skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes Potter," said Lily didactically, having expected that reaction. "So patch things up between yourselves, will you? Because if you four boys can't make it through a spat, then what hope do the rest of us have?"

"What if it's not a spat, though?" asked James, steeling himself for an argument. "What if one of us has betrayed the others, and told someone a secret, and that secret was a fundamental part of our friendship."

"True friendships can't be based on secrets," said Lily. "I should know."

And the retort of "know-it-all" died on his lips as James' saw the pained look in Lily's emerald green eyes. "What is it about nighttime, Evans," he said instead, cheekily referencing another incident in fourth year, "that makes you so nice to me?"

"I don't know," replied Lily, shrugging. She raised her gaze to the sky. "Maybe it's just hard to be mad at someone when there stars shining over your head."

"Why do you like stars so much?"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't—." James shoved his hands into his pockets. "I like watching the stars too, that's all. My dad used to take me on trips just to see them. He was a bit of an enthusiast when it came to that stuff, you know, constellations and the like. Said they were a—"

"Whole other type of magic," Lily said softly, finishing James' sentence with him. "You told me about that, fourth year," she said, in way of explanation to James' quizzical smile.

"Right," he said. "I didn't think you remembered."

"It was the first time I thought you might not be such a toerag after all. Of course you proved me wrong, afterward when you left me alone in the rain…" said Lily, drawing a laugh out of James. She smiled, "What is it about nighttime that makes you so talkative with me, Potter?"

"I've always been talkative with you," said James.

"No," responded Lily, shaking her head. "You've flirted with me, and you've argued with me, but we've really talked like this before. Do you realize this is the longest functioning conversation we've ever had?"

"What about that one in fourth year?"

"That wasn't a conversation. You talked and I listened."

"So you like this one better?"

"It's… different," said Lily, grabbing at word in her head. There was "different," sitting alongside "interesting" and "fine."

"Different good or different bad?" pressed James, grinning; he was determined to make Evans give him a real answer.

"Different different," retorted Lily, putting her foot down on her word choice. "Don't go trying to change the subject now, Potter. Are you going to make up with Sirius or not?"

"Well, seeing as you insist, Evans," said James, making of show of bowing down to her demand. He laughed halfheartedly, though. It was one thing to decide he would forgive Sirius for betraying Remus; James knew it was another thing to actually do it. Because in truth it wasn't Remus that Sirius had betrayed anymore, it was James.

Merlin he needed another walk.

He'd figured more out in the past half hour with Evans than he'd had in three nights by himself, though, thought James. "C'mon Evans," he said, making a spur of the moment decision, "I'm flying you home."

"What?" stammered Lily, caught off guard.

"I'm taking you home, Evans," repeated James. "It's late, you're drunk, and I'll bet ten Galleons that you don't your way home from here."

"I was going to follow the North Star?" offered Lily, smiling through her teeth because she'd known this had always been the weakest part of her plan.

James laughed again as he once again took the Nimbus out of Lily's hands. "C'mon," he said, mounting the broom first. "I want a ride in the fresh air, and if you don't get on I'm leaving without you."

"You wouldn't," said Lily, narrowing her eyes.

"Maybe I would and maybe I wouldn't," James replied cheekily, "but how do you know?"

Lily sighed and got on the broom behind James, hesitantly linking her arms around his torso.

"Ready?" asked James, his voice kept carefully steady to conceal the stupid thumping his heart had got up to again.

"Ready."

_(The Marauders Again)_

If you had no idea who the Marauders were but had to guess if they were friends, you'd probably guess wrong. Who could believe that the bookish, sandy-haired prefect was best mates with the elegantly arrogant and roguish troublemaker? Or that Hogwarts' residential Quidditch nut and prankster had taken mousy Peter Pettigrew under his wing? Even James and Sirius appeared like an unlikely leading duo; one was all gold and cheek while the other was all stormy-eyed and brooding.

None of them remembered when they became best friends.

There were actually five boys who slept in the strangely shaped dormitory at the very top of Gryffindor tower: James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Gideon Prewett. Gideon Prewett was a perfectly nice mate and a brilliant Beater, they would all agree on that, but somehow he wasn't part of the Marauders. Maybe it was because of the one night he'd been doing homework with the Hufflepuffs instead of in the dorm chugging Pepper Imps with the rest of them… or maybe not. Either way, five years had passed and Gideon was closest with his Hufflepuff year-mates while Messrs. Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail and Prongs were calling themselves the Marauders.

All of them remembered when they became the Marauders.

Or rather, all of them thought they remembered. Remus remembered calling his friends that after learning about pirates in Muggle Studies and coming to lunch to find that the other three, while in Care of Magical Creatures, had hijacked a boat out onto the lake and spent the hour observing _and_ learning about the Giant Squid. That was after the first day of classes in third year. James remembered the name sticking after Lily called the four of them "philandering, obnoxious, insufferable marauders;" three long words in a row plus one he liked the sound of. That was near the end of third year. Sirius fancied it all started after Professor McGonagall told them to stop marauding around after they pulled a welcome-back prank at the start of second year. That actually never happened, since the prank had been rather a failure and McGonagall had just wearily given them detention. And Peter, having been present for all three incidents, reckoned correctly that Remus was right.

That was all insignificant, though, in comparison to the only thing about the four mates you really needed to know. They were each other's family, and depended on each other like brothers. Sirius, Remus, and Peter had all not come from particularly happy households, and James had joined their ranks when his father passed away near the end of fourth year. Hogwarts was already their escape, but friendship had made the castle their home. So when Sirius had put Remus' secret on the line for a petty prank on Snape, he had betrayed the three people who trusted him the most.

But brothers always forgave.

That was what James kept thinking to himself as he pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron the next morning, bracing himself for the sight of his should-be best friends.

He caught sight of all three of them sitting at their usual booth, in quiet conversation. Remus was nursing a root beer while both Sirius and Peter had ordered cold pumpkin juice. And then Sirius said something that made Remus laugh, an infectious and merry sound that made James smile in spite of himself.

He wondered what Sirius had said.

The next few minutes seemed to rush by for James, as Peter spotted James and the latter's feet moved mechanically towards the table. The other boys busied themselves scooting around the booth to make room for James, who was dreading the moment where he'd sit down and one of them would have to talk.

"Hi James," said Remus, offering a kind smile. Remus had always been the most mature out of all of them, James thought. "How've you been doing?"

"Fine," replied James, all too aware that it was not enough. He wanted to say more, for Remus' sake if nothing else, but the words he so skillfully spun in pleasanter situations were lost to him right then.

_Tell them about the taking forever to knock on your door, and the two in morning, and the sundress and dancing._

James glanced at Sirius, who was immersed in tracing the lines of his empty goblet. The latter's sweeping black hair prevented any eye contact from being made and he seemed to like it that way; but there was that tilt of his head, the back of which James had watched often when under the Cloak, eavesdropping on teachers or waiting for them to pass. Sirius was grabbing onto every word being said at the table, and James knew it.

_Tell them about everything._ _Maybe laughing about me, you guys can get past whatever idiotic stubbornness is stopping you all from being friends_.

"So Evans came by yesterday," said James bluntly. He wished he had a more elegant, cheekier way to introduce the subject, but it was all he could do to start talking.

Thankfully, Sirius didn't miss a beat.

"You're kidding," he said, looking up and matching James' casual expression. Shining eyes, though, belied his composed demeanor.

James shook his head enthusiastically—a bit too enthusiastically, but all were in a particularly forgiving mood that morning. And this time when he opened his mouth, the words practically tripped over each other in their eagerness to get out.

Everything that had had to be said—all the anger, all the apologies, promises to forgive and forget—had been shared two months ago during that strained train ride back to King's Cross. Now it was just the matter of knocking the hinges back into place, of blowing off the dust and giving it a few good shakes so the natural rapport could start again. And a story about Lily Evans, someone whose presence in the boys' lives was as old as their friendship, was just the push that was needed. As James regaled his friends with the tale, a sense of normality returned. Padfoot grinned and shared knowing looks with Prongs at all the right places; Wormtail asked just enough questions and told a joke that made everybody laugh; Moony rolled his eyes but chuckled and drank in the story all the same. The Marauders were once again, weaved back together by the girl who at times in the past and future was their greatest enemy.

Miles away, Lily Evans had no idea of her influence on the group of boys sitting around the corner booth in the Leaky Cauldron. She'd woken up with only a vague recollection of what had happened the night before, but the gradual return of her memory varied directly with the growing pain in her head. She'd had more to drink than she'd let on to James, although no amount of alcohol could erase the regret she felt. She could still hear the prefect-Lily in her head saying it was a bad idea to sneak out with Derek, and an even worse one to agree to go to a bar. But it had all seemed so exciting at the time, such a romantic adventure to be swept up in the arms of a handsome seventh-year.

Until it had turned sour. Until she'd gotten in over her head. Until she'd ended up helpless in front of James Potter's house.

But in some way that had been an adventure too. If Lily had been in a more sentimental mood, she would have appreciated more James' kindness last night. She would have remembered the rapture of dancing under the stars, smiled at the image of him bouncing on his feet, been perplexed, been embarrassed, been strangely uplifted. Those thoughts, however, would only come crashing down around her a few days later when she told Mary and Marlene the story and be forced to remember the night in vivid detail. Those thoughts would swamp her in a mess of confusion and ruefulness, because they would come after she'd sent the letter.

The letter. It was short, simple, not terribly sweet. Lily had thought herself quite calm and collected while writing the letter, although hindsight would serve to show she'd still been in the throes of teenage regret and distress. She wished she could just forget about it (out of sight, out of mind, isn't that what they said?) but the words remained hauntingly clear in her head. _Dear Potter. Thank you for being so obliging last night. I'd had more than a little to drink and am equally ashamed and sorry. I don't quite remember what happened, or everything that I said… I think it'd be best if we just both forgot about it all. Pretend it never happened, and for Merlin's sake please don't bring this up at Hogwarts. In fact let's just not talk at all when we get to Hogwarts; it'll be easier on both of us. I'm tired of yelling, and I'm sure you're tired of it too. Thanks anyway, and I hope you patched things up with your friends._

For Lily, the letter was discomfiting and nagged at the back of her mind, but she thought it polite enough. For James, it was a nightmare. The events of last night had snuck into his head and replanted the seeds of hope, and then she'd gone and crushed them. She wanted to pretend it hadn't happened? Fine. He was completely on board with forgetting the stupidity and the funny pangs in his heart—completely on board. It had never happened.

Except it had.


	3. We Can Work It Out

Chapter 3

"We Can Work It Out"

_(Professor Bones)_

The Bones family was liked all-around in a world where it was increasingly difficult to be so, and were rather a sorts of celebrity. The elder Bones were well-respected officials high up in the Ministry of Magic, and many expected the quick-witted Amelia to follow in her parents' footsteps. Purists would cite the Bones' long line of magical ancestry and expound on their dedication to record wizard history. There was even rumored to be a woman who jinxed herself every weekend so she could be treated by Daniel Bones, the handsome young Healer who'd revolutionized St. Mungo's Spell Damage Department.

Edgar Bones was the oldest of three Bones siblings. He was dynamic and opinionated, and in his younger days had the good looks to get away with most of it. In his early-forties now, Edgar Bones was more dignified than dashing. There were scars on his face and a weathered look about his person, evidence of the dangers he had faced as an Auror. The wizard was highly respected in his field though, and many would willingly admit to the fact that, despite recent happenings, Edgar Bones was still an upstanding member of the community.

It had all started with a witch the Aurors had brought in for questioning a few months ago. An up-and-coming Muggle-born journalist, Emmeline wrote several articles for the Daily Prophet questioning the unspoken hierarchy that existed between wizards and Muggles. The column was met with considerable contention and widened the breach between Muggle rights activists and purists. The most extreme of the latter screeched for Vance's immediate resignation from the Prophet, but they had no real justification for their demands. For all her insinuations and hidden jabs at the few high-profile families who openly supported blood supremacy, Vance cleverly avoided actual libel.

They had no justification, that is, until Emmeline Vance was caught seemingly red-handed, smuggling dark artifacts into her house. Investigating an anonymous tip, Aurors found undisputable evidence that Vance was secretly selling cursed objects to Muggles. Her supporters were shocked while her critics were delightedly vindictive; the champion of Muggle-rights had fallen from her golden pedestal. She could be tried in front of the Wizengamot now, no longer able to hide her hypocrisy behind pen and paper. But then whisperings spread of how Emmeline Vance had been under an Imperius curse. That it was all a conspiracy, set into play by the very families who had been hit hardest by her iconoclastic articles.

Edgar Bones came to the young journalist's rescue, lending a respected and principled hand to her controversial cause. He took up Vance's defense in front of the Wizengamot, and, together with his sister Amelia, successfully cleared her of all charges. The purists were furious, of course. Blood had been near enough to smell before Edgar Bones had stuck his nose into it. They decried the ruling while Muggle activists rejoiced at the return of their crusader. Meanwhile, Bones charged on with investigating Vance's case, becoming determined to find out who had framed her. In this he hit a brick wall, for now he was fighting against families more wealthy and powerful, if not as popular, than his own. The struggle caused enough commotion for Bones to be placed under inquiry and held off from further Auror work. That was when Dumbledore offered him the Defense Against the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts.

The sixth years didn't have Defense classes until Friday, and several were quite anxious for the end of the week to come. They'd had to rely on the younger students for reviews of the new professor, and it was tipping the balance of power in the school. When word had first leaked that Professor Bones had been present for the Quintaped attack, several of Lily's year-mates approached her during breakfast, looking for news from a more respectable source. Professor Bones had only shown up at the very end of the attack, though, so she did not have much to offer in terms of a first-hand account.

The rumors, on the other hand, were quite generous towards the new professor. Professor Bones had his critics, of course, in the sons and daughters of the families he had waged war in the courtroom against, but they were a small minority and no one except their close friends much liked to listen to them. The general consensus was that whatever his political preoccupations, Edgar Bones was a bloody good teacher. He'd guided the first years through rudimentary jinxes and third years through their first Boggart, keeping a stern but gentle hand, and earned the admiration of much of the student population. "He's different," they would say, "He knows what he's talking about. It's a bit scary, but it's brilliant."

All in all, come Friday morning, Lily rushed her friends through breakfast and hurried up to the Defense classroom. To her disappointment, several Ravenclaw girls had come up with the same idea and already taken seats at the front of class. Sylvia Edgecombe looked triumphantly over her shoulder at Lily before returning to talking with her friends.

Not wanting to provoke further confrontation, Lily shrugged it off and simply took a seat next to Marlene near the middle of the room. She found a small comfort in taking out her textbook and a freshly trimmed quill from her back, laying them neatly in front of her on the desk. Lily loved first classes, whatever subject matter they were in. Everything was so new; everything had such a bright future before it was tainted by late night study sessions and five-foot long essays. But even all-nighters had a sort of charm about them, provided there was an equally harried friend and plenty of Butterbeer around.

She saw James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter take their usual places at the back of the room, but looked quickly away before any of them noticed a pair of bright emerald eyes observing them. Things had been tense between James and Lily since the night of the Quintaped attack. She was going to apologize, eventually. Lily knew it was the right thing to do—a strict reprimand from Mary had helped her realize the letter had not been the most tactful of correspondences—but she did not necessarily have the best track record with talking to James Potter.

Lily was spared from any further musings on the morality of apologizing in part because she did not want to fail the next potions class when Professor Bones walked in through the door.

"Good morning," he said, striding towards the front of the room. He was halfway there before most of Lily's classmates realized he had entered at all.

"Good morning, Professor," chimed the students. Their last Defense professor had drilled that response into their reflexes, at least. It was one of the few things he had managed to teach during nine months at the job.

Leaning forward, Lily craned for a look at the new professor, as did most of her classmates. They'd heard enough about this ex-Auror, and wanted to appraise the newcomer for themselves.

Professor Bones, for his part, did not disappoint.

He was tall, with broad shoulders and impeccable posture. What everyone remembered him by, though, was that as one of those rare specimens, Edgar Bones could command the attention of a room by the single act of standing in it. His gaze was fair but severe, his movements steady and collected. And there was something in the way he held himself that displayed a sense of stateliness without the pompousness of Slughorn and with all the class of McGonagall.

He did not mince his words, either.

"Forget anything you have heard about my class, because you are all at the N.E.W.T. level now," said Professor Bones, gazing sternly down at his new students as he paced in front of the first row. "There will be no tardiness, idleness, or passing of notes."

He flicked his eyes towards the group of whispering Ravenclaw girls and Lily felt inappropriately happy.

"Professor Dumbledore agrees with me when I say that you, having just two more years at Hogwarts, must be prepared for the dangers you will undoubtedly face in the world outside," said Professor Bones. "That is why he has given me permission to start a Dueling Club. We will meet Tuesday evenings in the Great Hall, and it will be open to fifth-years and above only. Do not take this lightly; only students with a serious commitment to fighting the dark arts should even consider joining this club. The spells and skills I will teach will be much more advanced than you would ever learn in class."

There was a shuffling about the room as students shifted in their seats. Some moved to edge, eager to hear the rest of the Professor Bones had to say, while others fidgeted uncomfortably.

The professor continued, his words keeping to the steady rhythm of his boots against the wooden floor. "That being said, all of you are here today because you have already shown not only a capability but also a strong interest in fighting the dark arts, a choice I hope you made with serious thought. We are at war, as I am sure you are aware, and Lord Voldemort will not go easy on you simply because you are children. Dueling practice could go a long way and possibly save your and your families lives. Any questions?"

The class was silent. Most were still in shock that Professor Bones had used You-Know-Who's real name.

"Anyone who wishes to sign up?" roughly added Professor Bones, finally coming to a stop at the very top of the aisle.

His gaze raked over his students. Lily could feel that this was a test—a test of their courage, of their mettle and character. Should she…

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin, and Mr. Pettigrew. How brave of you four to take the first step." A magical quill wrote down their names on a piece of parchment as Professor Bones called them out.

Lily had not noticed them raising their hands, but when she turned to glance at the Marauders, only Sirius had his usual smug expression on his face.

"I want to sign up too, Professor." Next to Lily, Marlene raised her hand into the air. Professor Bones nodded and spoke her name to the quill.

"Are you sure?" hissed Lily.

Marlene shrugged; she didn't appear fazed at all. "It's just a club," she said.

Behind Lily, Gideon Prewett raised his hand. Dorcas Meadowes', a Ravenclaw, hand quickly followed, as did two Hufflepuffs'. Finally, Lily raised her hand too.

"Meadowes, Whitby, Abbot… and Evans." Professor Bones nodded approvingly. "Alright, anyone else who wishes to join has until Monday evening to tell me so. Now, wands out, we're going to begin with a little practical exam to see what you all know."

* * *

><p><em>(Apologies)<em>

At the consequence of eating empty air for the last ten minutes, Mary had one eye trained on the _Daily Prophet_ and the other flickering toward the Gryffindor Quidditch team. In a sea of black robes, the seven students in scarlet and gold were quite conspicuous.

While Lily and Mary were sitting in their normal spots near the middle of the table, Marlene was up further, sitting with the team. _Her _team, rather, since she was the starting Seeker now. Marlene had been a reserve for a while but Mary had never known that her friend played Quidditch that well. Apparently she did, however, according to all the gossip that'd been flying around since tryouts on Saturday.

Marlene said something to Gideon Prewett, who was one of the Beaters, and made him laugh. Mary wondered what the joke had been.

She didn't have time to wonder long, because Gideon had gotten up and was walking towards her and Lily now.

"Morning," he said, taking a seat besides Mary.

"Good morning Gideon," she replied, finally putting the _Prophet _away. "How was practice?"

He grinned widely, which made Mary smile too, in spite of herself. She'd always thought that when he was happy, Gideon—fair, tall, lean, and with golden hair that shined in the sunlight streaming down from the enchanted ceiling—looked exactly as a Gryffindor ought.

"Excellent," he said, shaking his head as if he still couldn't believe what was happening. "We're going to win the House Cup this year, I can feel it. Did you know Marlene could fly like that?"

"No, I were just as surprised as the rest of you," said Mary, nonchalantly. "She never told any of us."

"Her eldest brother was Quidditch captain a couple of years back, I think," added Lily. She'd been eating in silence until then, pensively observing Mary's gaze.

"Yeah, I remember," said Gideon. "His name was Laurence. But that doesn't explain how she got so much better over a single summer."

Mary shrugged. "What class do you have this morning, Gideon?"

"Er…" Gideon rummaged through his bag and pulled out his schedule. "Free period. You have Potions, right? I'll walk you to class."

"Thanks," said Mary. She quickly packed the _Prophet _into her bag and was about to do the same with her books when Gideon scooped them up for her. Smiling ruefully, Mary waved goodbye to Lily and followed the Gryffindor boy out of the Hall.

Lily waved back with a knowing look on her face and prepared to leave for class herself. She was used to walking around Hogwarts by herself. Marlene was nowadays never seen anywhere without a posse, while Mary was always with Gideon. She told herself that she didn't mind; she fancied it rather romantic to wander through the lofty halls of the castle in solitude. To her satisfaction, it was a scene very much like those from her books.

In truth the loneliness was enough to wear down even Lily's sentimentality at times, but she would never admit it. No, heroines were impervious to feelings like that, and isolation was highly desirable for moments of deep contemplation and moral reflection.

She did not have the joy of making her commute to Potions class alone this morning, however. This morning, she had a mission. James Potter must be found and apologized to, though it promised to be a most excruciating task.

For now, though, a more appealing conversation could be initiated.

"Remus!"

The sandy-haired boy turned at Lily's call. Shifting the weight of his book bag, Remus Lupin waved brightly.

"Heading to Potions?" asked Lily, catching up to her fellow prefect and walking out of the Great Hall with him. Of all her Gryffindor year-mates of the opposite gender, Lily was closest to Remus. His Marauders membership was a fault she could tolerate for the sake of his friendship.

"No, back to the dorms, actually." Remus scratched his head. "I kind of forgot my wand there."

"Why not use a summoning charm?

"Can't," replied Remus, laughing ruefully. "I put an anti-locomotion charm on my wand last year when James and Sirius decided to play Clabbert in the Center with it. Speaking of James—"

Lily narrowed her eyes, frowning firmly. "We were not speaking of James."

"I was."

"Yeah you were, I wasn't."

"Well since we're on the topic now, anyway," proceeded Remus, "I'd thought you two had finally patched things up after this summer."

"Come on, Remus, it's me and James." Finally letting her pout slip away, Lily turned to rolling her eyes instead. "I don't think we'll ever patch things up for more than a few days. We just don't fit well, you know? We get on each others' nerves too much."

"You are planning to apologize, though?"

"How'd you know that?"

Remus shrugged. "It's what Lily Evans does. Between Evans and Potter, the former is always first to apologize. You think it's the right thing to do."

"It _is _the right thing to do, Remus," Lily said sternly.

"I never said it wasn't," he said, looking innocuously straight ahead. "It's just, I can't help wonder whether you actually like having an excuse to talk to—"

Catching Lily's death glare, Remus stopped and smiled sheepishly. "Alright, I'll stop. But I do wish you two would stop fighting."

"Don't we all?"

"Well, here's your chance then."

"What?"

Before Lily could get another word out, Remus dashed onto a moving staircase up to the seventh floor. Reading between the lines of Remus' cheeky wave, Lily dreaded turning around to face a certain Gryffindor boy she knew was heading towards her. This was the only junction that connected the Great Hall to the dungeons. Of course James Potter would be coming here.

Since Potter was still quite a bit away, Lily had time to steel herself for the upcoming confrontation. On James' part, well, he saw a frowning Lily standing in his path and had to fight the urge to turn back towards the Great Hall. But he didn't. No. This was the new James Potter. This was the James Potter that did not care what red headed Gryffindor girls thought. He could do this. Besides, Padfoot was walking with him and James would never hear the end of it if he chickened out.

Be cool. Breath. Maybe ruffle your hair to show how much you don't—no, let's not do that. Be cool, Potter.

"Potter!"

"Evans." James gave a casual half-salute, half-wave as he slowed to a stop. He was cool.

"Evans." Sirius pulled up besides the pair and echoed his best friend's greeting. Unlike James, though, Sirius actually was cool. With a breezy nod and smirk in Lily's general direction, he proceeded to pat James on the shoulder and continue his way towards Potions class.

One could not tell whether James or Lily was more irritated by the manner of Sirius' exit. Both seemed rather on edge.

"Potter," said Lily, knowing that she was repeating herself but not knowing what else to say.

"Evans."

"… Potter."

"Yeah, Evans?"

Lily sighed. "Let's try not to get a T in Potions today, shall we?"

"If this is your idea of an apology," said James, "I am sorely disappointed."

"Who said it was an apology? I just don't want to fail N.E.W.T. Potions."

"You always apologize."

"And you always say something cheeky before accepting my apology and moving on until the next time we argue," replied Lily. "So check, and check."

"That's it then, is it?" James' voice was low.

Lily blinked slowly and put her face in her hands. When she looked up, she finally looked James directly in the eye, resolving to just deal with the matter so that it would end as soon as possible. "What is there left to say? I'm tired of fighting, Potter."

"So am I."

"Then can't we just move on?" Lily's question was in earnest. She disliked arguing with anyone, including James, contrary to what their countless fights looked like to the rest of the Hogwarts population. "I already said sorry for showing up at our house and for writing that letter, and now I'm apologizing for yelling at you that night. I'm sorry, okay? Sorry."

"Why do you like apologizing so much?" asked James. His tone had lost the dangerous edge it'd had before and moved on to a curious one, but Lily was still unsettled by his words.

"What?"

"I mean," said James, "I said this before but you _always_ apologize."

"Have you talked to Remus about this because—"

"Even when you haven't really done anything wrong you apologize," James continued, knowing he had a lead on Evans and twisting it for all its worth. "You think apologies fix everything, don't you?"

"Well they certainly don't hurt anything," counteracted Lily. "What gets harmed by saying sorry? My pride? Okay, so what? If apologizing helps smooth things over quicker, then whatever."

"Yeah but that's all it does," said James. "It ties a ribbon around things that haven't even been fixed yet. You need to hash out your problems and punch someone if you need to in order to properly set things right."

"Haven't we already hashed everything out, Potter?" asked Lily, appropriating his words. "We literally have had arguments about everything. You using to fancy me: hashed out. You asking me to Hogsmeade multiple times fifth year: hashed out. Your problem with me and Severus: hashed out. Me taking the punishment for the Quintaped incident: hashed out. That letter I sent you: —"

"_Not_ hashed out," said James, a smirk complementing his interjection. "Because like I said, Evans, apologizing does not equal hashing things out."

"What do you want to hash out about that letter, then?" Lily crossed her arms. "I told you I would rather forget about everything that happened this August."

"But maybe I don't," said James. He bit his lip and took a breath before continuing on. "Look, Evans. Right up until I got that letter, I was really happy because I thought we'd finally made some progress in our friendship."

"We're friends?" asked Lily. It was more teasing than hostile, though.

"Sometimes," offered James. "And I would really like it if we were friends more of the time. But in that letter you said you wanted to pretend that night had never happened."

"Because it was embarrassing," exclaimed Lily.

"So you had a rough day, whatever," said James. "Everyone has rough days. But that was also the day we had our first functioning conversation, and in the interest of having more of those and less arguments, I don't think we should forget that."

Lily brushed her hair back behind her ear and sucked in her cheeks. It was unsettling that James Potter's thought process had reached this mature conclusion faster than her own.

"Alright," she finally said.

"Alright?" James was a bit surprised he'd managed to convince her so easily. "So, we're friends?"

"Yeah, friends," repeated Lily, a hint of a smile peeking through. "I guess this hashing out thing of yours really works."

"I told you," replied James, grinning. "Shall we proceed to Potions class then, Lily?"

"Not quite there yet, Potter."

"Okay."

* * *

><p><em>(He's a Keeper)<em>

When Lily Evans and James Potter entered Potions class together, laughing, many pairs of eyebrows were raised. There were certainly many strange things happening in the dungeon classroom today, because, in the back, Marlene McKinnon was also laughing with an unusual partner.

Eleven-year-old Marlene McKinnon had been shy and not quite grown into her limbs yet, and she didn't know how to make friends very well either. When events had conspired to leave her and Theodore Gilbert as the odd ones left without partners that first day of Potions class (Lily having paired up with a pale, greasy-haired boy and Mary Macdonald coupled to the smiley Gideon Prewett), Marlene had not had the faintest idea what to do or say. He was, well, a boy, and a Slytherin one at that.

Granted he was nice enough, and cute, although back then she had been too young to appreciate that. They had said "hello" that first day and proceeded to be decent Potions partners. But besides questions like whether she'd added the asphodel root or if he could turn down the fire, the only words they would ever exchange for the next five entire years would be:

"Hello."

"Hi."

Thirteen-year-old Marlene McKinnon had undergone a sort of transformation. Like so many other teenage girls eager to pass through the cusp of womanhood, she'd started curling her hair, tinting her lips, caring for the way she dressed, and batting her eyelashes at cute boys who passed by; she never could quite bring herself to act that way around the Gilbert boy, though. He'd seen her at her weakest state, frightened and friendless the first day of Potions class, and seeing him was a reminder of that. Why even bother trying at a second impression when the first impression was so bad?

"Hello."

"Hi."

Now, sixteen-year-old Marlene McKinnon was the kind of girl who was never short on friends. She was beautiful, she was witty, she was kind just enough but had charm to spare. She told herself she didn't care much for Theodore Gilbert, handsome though he was, with his habit of never looking and much less speaking to her outside of Potions class.

"Hi."

She looked away from her examination of a far off wall for a second to return the greeting. "Hello."

That was where the correspondence usually ended, but today the boy was feeling unusually possessed.

"Was that Hamilton you were talking to?" he asked.

Marlene was more than a little surprised at the question, to say the least. She managed to blink dazedly for only a few seconds, however, before conjuring up a reply. "Ralph, you mean? Yes, that was him."

"People have been saying he's a bit smitten with you."

"What people?"

"Just, people."

"Well you shouldn't believe everything you hear, Gilbert," said Marlene, with a little toss of her head.

Theodore nodded and slowly turned back around to face the front, his expression unreadable. "…Right."

Crap. She'd been pretentious. This was not the way to go about talking to a boy who'd finally said something friendly to her besides "Hi" in five years.

"We were talking about Quidditch, actually, Ralph and I," quickly said Marlene, hoping to recapture Theodore's attention. "The Hufflepuff team had its tryouts on Saturday."

"And?" asked Theodore, turning back around.

"And what?"

He raised a knowing eyebrow. "You have something more to say, Marlene McKinnon, I could hear it in your voice."

Marlene's mouth dropped open as she tried to come up with a response. She stammered, but came up with only empty air.

"You want to say something else about Quidditch, I can tell," said Theodore. "You're not going to hold out on me just because I'm Slytherin, are you?"

He may have been serious but Marlene doubted it, his eyes were dancing an Irish jig.

"Oh alright," said Marlene, fighting the urge to glare at Gilbert, who was grinning cheekily. "And Ralph was telling me that the Slytherins held tryouts on Saturday too."

"And?"

This time Marlene really did glare at him. "And rumor has it that Quincy begged you to join the team."

"You shouldn't believe everything you hear, McKinnon."

"I—," Marlene was left speechless again. What in Merlin's name was going on?

"C'mon, McKinnon," said Theodore. His voice was softer, but Marlene could tell from his eyes that he was laughing on the inside again. "You can't say you didn't find the silence a bit awkward either? And we're in N.E.W.T. Potions now… I'd say it's better to be friends with the guy you have to spend three hours every Monday morning with."

He held out his hand, but Marlene didn't do anything but stare quizzically at it though.

"You're supposed to shake it, McKinnon."

"I know," she replied, "I'm just worried that if I do, the whole school might blow up or something. Slytherins and Gryffindors aren't exactly supposed to be friends, you know."

Theodore laughed, which made Marlene smile. She'd been aiming for that.

"Surely we're above all that house nonsense. I assure you that nothing will blow up," said Theodore. "Now shake, and let us be friends except for when we're on the Quidditch field."

"Oh, so you _are_ on the team," said Marlene, finally relenting and shaking Theodore's hand.

"Slytherin's new Keeper, at your service. Except on the Quidditch field, that is."

"You're pretty close friends with Manning, right?" asked Marlene.

Theodore nodded. "Why? You still mad at him for the broken arm he gave you third year?"

"Nah," she replied, smirking. "We won the Cup in the end anyway. And I give credit where credit is due—it was a good shot."

"I would say he felt terrible about if afterwards but that would be a lie," replied Theodore. "Daniels was smart, holding open tryouts this year and letting everyone watch. Rumors are flying and half the Slytherin team already has plans to hex you in the hallway."

"If I'm slow enough to let those buffoons catch me," said Marlene, shrugging, "then I shouldn't be on the team in the first place. I don't have to worry about any surprise attacks from my Potions partner, though, do I?"

Theodore feigned indignation. "Of course not! I play fair, McKinnon."

"Marlene," she said, smiling. "McKinnon is such a mouthful to say; just call me Marlene."

"Alright then," replied Theodore, returning the smile. "Call me Theodore."

"Theodore is a mouthful as well."

"Ted?"

"That's boring."

"How is a name boring?"

"Hi Ted. How's your job at the Ministry's Administrative Registration Department going?"

"Alright alright," relented Theodore, enjoying going toe to toe with his pretty Potions' partner. "What shall my name be, then?"

Marlene thought for a second. "How about Theo?"

"Nope." Theodore made an 'X' with his arms. "Not Theo, that's what my Aunt Grimelda calls me."

"Teddy?" asked Marlene, tilting her head to the side.

"Teddy?" Now it was Theodore's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah," said Marlene, grinning. "Teddy."

Theodore thought what his best friend Fischer would say about letting a girl call him 'Teddy.' Probably something along the lines of: "You never let me call you that, but all of a sudden a _girl_ wants to call you Teddy and you're okay with it?"

As it turned out, yeah, he was.

"Teddy it is."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **GUYS I AM REALLY VERY SORRY FOR NOT UPDATING IN OVER A YEAR. I, er, was really busy for a while, with school and college apps and whatnot. And then once I got the time there was just writing inertia because I hadn't written anything in so long, and then... yeah... BUT I'M BACK NOW. (sorry this chapter is shorter than the others despite how long it took me to finish)

Theodore Gilbert and his Slytherin friends are oc's that I'm actually really excited about developing. I'm actually kind of glad I left this alone for a year because I feel like I can write this better, now. As always, reviews/constructive criticism are appreciated!


	4. Day Tripper

Chapter 4

"_Day Tripper"_

"Watch Harry, I think he's going to spill his milk."

"I've got it, don't worry Lily."

…

"Ah well, nothing a Sponging Charm can't fix."

"_James_."

"Sorry, sorry."

"I'll go get more milk."

"Has the paper come yet?"

"Moony sent it over just five minutes ago."

"Anyone we know?"

* * *

><p><em>(The Morning Ritual)<em>

Every morning for the past two years, all of Hogwarts' students had heard the question:

"Anyone we know?"

Asked approximately five minutes after the post arrived, it was most likely voiced by a third year or above. This was because five minutes was how long it took to skim through the _Daily Prophet_, and thirteen was the age when you stopped joking about your parents dying and being adopted into your friend's family. The danger of that happening, you realized, was all of imminent, real and scary.

The answer to the question varied from table to table. "No's" were heard most often at the Slytherin table, as well as the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. At the Ravenclaw table the answer "yes" might be heard more than it was comfortable, but most times it was a potioneer, journalist, or some other stranger who's death, although unfortunate, was not devastating to anyone inside Hogwarts. So for the students sitting inside the Great Hall eating breakfast or hurriedly catching up on homework, the most dreaded answer was silence, followed by a soft, "I'm sorry."

Next came the reactions, and when those two words were heard, the reactions were heartbreaking. Some of the wounded gathered their friends near, some found comfort in pretending not to hear and just continuing to eat breakfast, and still others raced out the doors, seeking solitude. But as the day passed on and they were seen again, hiding in the refuge of bed covers or resolutely returning to class, all of them had the same empty look in their eyes, as if a huge hole in their heart had been ripped away and they had no idea how to fill it, or even if it could be filled.

Close friends would offer shoulders to cry on, and even mere acquaintances would approach and gently ask, "Hey, how're you holding up?" The last step in the ritual, however, was not a show of selfless sympathy. The last step was a thought voiced inside all the students' heads except the grieving ones'. The last step was thinking, "I'm glad that it's not me."

Because that is what all the students, and everyone else in wizarding England, lived with day in and day out. Every night the lucky ones went to bed grateful that it had not been them, but every morning they would wake up praying to be spared another day.

All the students partook in the morning ritual, although many feigned disinterest. And at the Marauder's table, students thought, the mood _should_ be disinterest. According to rumors, Sirius Black did not care about anyone outside Hogwarts, and even if that weren't true, all his family were purebloods. James Potter's parents were purebloods, too, who had retired from mundane Ministry jobs. And Peter Pettigrew came from a perfectly respectable family whose stance on Muggle-borns was decidedly unoffending to either side.

However, over the past two years, the daily ritual of inquiring over the paper had been maintained at the Marauder's table for Remus Lupin, whose mother was Muggle. Even at this point the other boys weren't sure if that was the best way to handle things or not, but the question was asked every morning, all the same.

"Anyone we know?"

* * *

><p>"Marlene, there's a boy named Hopkirk in Hufflepuff, right?" asked Lily, folding over her copy of the <em>Daily Prophet.<em>

"Landen Hopkirk, second year," Marlene replied absentmindedly, trying to stir milk into her coffee with nonverbal magic. "And he's got a brother in Ravenclaw as well; Aiden, our year. They're both quite nice."

"I know them as well," said Mary, watching Marlene's struggles with amusement. Being Muggleborn, she was always bemused by what magical lengths wizards would go to in order to do completely mundane tasks. With realization of what Lily was reading, however, Mary's face turned pale. "Lily, their family isn't—?"

Lily nodded, grim. "Greyback and a couple of other werewolves attacked the Hopkirk's home last night. Mrs. Hopkirk died of her injuries, while their seven-year-old son was bit. He's still in St. Mungo's as of now."

"But Greyback usually attacks children, doesn't he?" asked Mary. All traces of her smile were gone now. "Why the mother?"

"Mrs. Hopkirk was a firm proponent of assimilating werewolves into regular wizarding society," read Lily from the paper, "Even having several letters published in the _Daily Prophet _itself."

"And Greyback doesn't want that," finished Mary, a frown deepening on her face. "He thinks werewolves should take over the wizarding community, turn everyone into savage beasts. That letter by Mrs. Hopkirk was published at least three weeks ago. Greyback was purposefully waiting for the full moon if he only attacked just last night."

"Not all werewolves think the way Greyback does," said Lily, putting the _Prophet _down and scooping strawberry jam onto her toast. "Most were in support of Mrs. Hopkirk's campaign. It's those like Greyback that give all of them a bad name."

"Still…" Mary said. That was all she said on the subject, however, because there was a carefully veiled defensiveness in Lily's voice that Mary could not quite place. "When you're finished with breakfast, Lily, let's head up to Arithmancy. I want to ask Professor Vector a few questions before class starts about the essay she assigned."

"You already started that?" asked Lily, looking quizzically at her friend as she bit into her toast. "It's only a few short questions, though, not an essay."

"It's N.E.W.T. year and I don't want to fall behind. I've got eight classes and none of them are easy like Care of Magical Creatures, remember?" said Mary.

Lily nodded and dropped the rest of her toast on the plate, having only finished half of it. "Let's go then," she said, brushing off her hands. "It looks like Remus is getting ready to leave, too. Bye Marlene."

"Bye." Marlene waved as Mary and Lily rose from their seats.

"Don't you have a class as well?" asked Mary, turning back for a second.

Marlene shook her head and grinned. "Nope, I haven't got any on Tuesdays," she said, savoring the freedom she had in comparison to her friends. "Jealous, aren't you?"

Choosing to stick her tongue out at the relaxed brunette instead of deigning her with an answer, Mary picked up her books and hurried after Lily, who had already gone up ahead to where Remus was sitting.

The Marauders were all looking a little haggard this morning, Remus in particular. He was trying to jam _Spellman's Syllabary _into his bookbag but failing miserably, having already haphazardly tossed several other books in there. Meanwhile, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew were resting their chins on the table, eyes closed, as magically charmed utensils spooned sausages and porridge into their mouths.

James Potter was the relative exception to the weary crew, though he, too, stifled a yawn before he rose from the table. Still, there was color in his cheeks and ears as he waved at Mary and stole a sideways glance at Lily, who was helping Remus with his books. "Morning, MacDonald."

"Good morning," said Mary. She paused for a second before peering at the tall black-haired boy and asking, "Where are you going? You don't take N.E.W.T. Arithmancy."

"Potter's got Astronomy Theory," explained Lily, having asked the same question just a minute ago. "It's in the same direction as Vector's classroom."

"You still take Astronomy?" Mary's eyebrows unconsciously gather upwards.

"Yeah why?" asked James. "Are Quidditch players not supposed to take N.E.W.T. Astronomy or something?"

"No that's not what I meant," exclaimed Mary, hurriedly backpedaling in the face of a smirking James Potter. "I just… it is not a very popular class, that's all."

James shrugged. "I like it. Got everything, Moony?"

"Yeah." Remus took one last forkful of ham before shouldering his bag and patting Peter and Sirius' sleepy heads goodbye. H then walked out of the Great Hall with the rest of the group. "Mary, you know question four of that essay Vector assigned us; are we supposed to use Spellman's or Karuzo's theory of numerology for that?"

"I used Karuzo's because that's what we started learning last class but the numbers didn't come out right," said Mary. "Same for question six. Did you have a chance to consult that new grammatical chart Vector mentioned last class?"

Remus shook his head. "No, I was a bit busy last night with… er, Transfiguration homework."

"McGonagall hasn't assigned us anything though," said Mary, tilting her head quizzically.

"She already posted the reading schedule for next week on her blackboard," interjected Lily. "That's what you were referring to, right Remus?"

"Er, yeah," said Remus, slowly nodding. "It's something like three chapters a week so I thought I should best get started. Prongs, how's Quidditch going?"

"Quidditch is… it's going great," said James. He was caught a bit off guard by the sudden question but recovered quickly. "Lloyd Daniels—the new captain—he drew lots to schedule training sessions first, so Gryffindor's only got one early morning practice a week."

"Isn't it bad that the entire starting team is composed of sixth and seventh years?" asked Mary, quickening her pace to walk alongside James. She did not have much knowledge of Quidditch, but she did remember Gideon saying something about problems with turnover.

"It's not ideal," said James, shrugging. "But the seventh year players are undefeated in the last two years. Why change something that works? Besides, Lloyd will make sure that the reserve players get enough practice as well."

"Who's on the reserve team?"

"Gideon's brother, Fabian, he's got a pretty mean swing." James ruffled his hair as he tried to think back to yesterday's practice. "Personal favorite is Douglas, this second year kid. He could make the starting team next year."

"Nate Abrams is a strong candidate for Keeper next year, right?" asked Mary.

"Yeah, Abrams is pretty good, too." James looked confusedly down at Mary. "Since when were you this interested in Quidditch, MacDonald?"

"Well, Marlene and Gideon are both on the starting team now, so I thought I should learn," said Mary with an innocent smile. "Right, Lily?"

"What? Oh, yes. Definitely," said Lily. As Mary and James chattered about Quidditch, Lily had fallen back to walk quietly with Remus.

"Good on you, MacDonald," said James, coming to a stop as the group neared Professor Vector's classroom. "Anyhow, Astronomy is further along, so I'll be going. Bye Moony."

"Bye Prongs."

"MacDonald."

"Potter."

"Evans."

"You're going to be late for class, Potter."

* * *

><p><em>(Inter-House Relations)<em>

Back in the Great Hall, Marlene was flipping through _Witch Weekly_ as she lazily stirred more milk into her tea (without magic, this time). Now that her usual tablemates were gone, the prospect of a free day seemed slightly less glorious and more boring. Marlene resolved, therefore, that some companionship must be found.

Teddy Gilbert was an interesting character, she thought. Cute, too, and good at Quidditch. Marlene wondered how he would fair against Potter in the first game of the season. Not too well, surely. For all the faults Lily cited against him, no one could deny Potter's Quidditch skills.

Before Marlene had further opportunity to muse over the Gilbert boy, however, the Ravenclaw Quidditch team treaded into the Great Hall for a late breakfast. Practice must have gone well, Marlene thought, because all the members were in rowdy spirits.

"Marlene!"

The call came from Ralph Hamilton, a lanky sixth year who was a Chaser for the Ravenclaw team. He strode over to where Marlene was sitting, still dressed in his blue and silver practice gear, drawing the glances and giggles of a group of fourth year Gryffindor girls nearby.

"You read the _Prophet_ this morning?" asked Ralph, whispering as he casually took an apple from the fruit basket.

"Yeah, I did," replied Marlene, also whispering but not quite knowing why. "How's Hopkirk holding up?"

"He doesn't know yet," said Ralph, "So just go along with this, okay?"

"Go along with what—?"

"Morning, McKinnon!" This time the call was from Aiden Hopkirk, who took a seat across the aisle from Marlene at the Ravenclaw table.

Aiden Hopkirk was a lean, pale-skinned boy with eyes that reminded Marlene of a baby deer caught in headlights. Besides that he played Quidditch and had two younger brothers however, she didn't know much else about Aiden.

Except, of course, that Fenrir Greyback had murdered his mother and put his youngest brother in St. Mungo's.

"Why the long face?" asked Aiden, peering curiously and slightly worriedly at Marlene. Unconsciously, Marlene's face had fallen to mirror her thoughts and Aiden had caught the change in her expression.

"Nothing," said Marlene, quickly pasting a smile back on her face. "I was just… um… wondering what to do the rest of the day. My friends have abandoned me for the joys of education, you see."

"How about a game of Quidditch, then?" asked Aiden.

"Quidditch?" Marlene's eyebrows rose together as she processed Aiden's suggestion. Inter-house Quidditch, outside tournament matches, was nearly unheard of. Captains on occasion scheduled practice games with other teams, but only rarely. Competitive rivalries caused even casual Quidditch to be kept in-house. Never in her five years at Hogwarts had Marlene ever witnessed friendly inter-house Quidditch.

"Yeah, Quidditch." Ralph accompanied his words with a slight nudge of Marlene's arm. "Come on, Marlene, let's see that new Nimbus 1500 in action."

"Oh so that's what you want then? A little pre-season scouting of the Gryffindor Seeker's skills?" asked Marlene, warily engaging in the banter. She still was not sure what was going on.

"Well, that too," said Aiden. He grinned. "But it's mostly pure curiosity, McKinnon. The Nimbus 1500 is the broom of choice for the next World Cup."

"They've already decided that? It's still only group stages right now."

"Come on, Marlene," repeated Ralph, a touch more intensely than before. "Everyone wants to see the Nimbus. I already promised other people that I'd convince you to come play… don't make me look bad in front of the rookies."

"Oh!" exclaimed Marlene, finally understanding as she followed Ralph's gaze toward the group of eager Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff second years—including Landen Hopkirk—waiting further up the table. "Yeah, sure I'll play."

Both Aiden and Ralph shared smiles of relief.

"Great!" said Aiden, standing up. "Let me just get the rest of the players and then I'll meet you out on the Quidditch pitch."

Marlene waved cheerily back at Aiden before turning to narrow her eyes at the other Ravenclaw boy still sitting besides her. "What's your plan, Ralph," she said skeptically, "Distract him with Quidditch? He'll find out about his family eventually."

"We only need to keep it quiet for an hour or so more," replied Ralph, shrugging apologetically. "I got an express owl this morning, from Mr. Hopkirk. He wants Aiden and Landen to hear the news from their father first, instead of from the _Prophet_."

"Why Quidditch, all of a sudden? There hasn't been friendly inter-house Quidditch in ages."

"Aiden and Landen love Quidditch. Nothing else would take them away from breakfast."

"So they really have no idea?"

Ralph shook his head and then smiled half-ruefully, half-grimly. "Nah, this whole thing… he thinks he's being my wingman, helping me get time to hang out with you."

"I see," replied Marlene, as calmly as possible. She fought the urge to laugh—it would be inappropriate, considering the Hopkirks' situation. After a pause, she added, "You're a good friend, Ralph."

"I try to be," replied Ralph, shrugging it off. "Let's go grab some more people for the game so we can get two teams playing. I'll go get Kevin and the rest of the Hufflepuffs… you want to get the Gryffindors?"

"What, no Slytherins?" asked Marlene, teasingly. Last year, the Slytherin Beaters had given Ralph a cracked skull and put him in the Hospital Wing for a week.

"I'm sure the Slytherins would absolutely love to play with the rest of us," replied Ralph, equally sarcastic. He laughed. "See you at the pitch."

* * *

><p>Teddy Gilbert, having woken up late this morning, was still yawning as he entered the Great Hall and nearly crashed straight into a group of Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Quidditch players all taking loudly about a pick-up game.<p>

"What's going on?" asked Teddy as he sat down at the dining table. His friends, Fischer and Quinn, were already halfway through breakfast.

Fischer Manning was built like the Beater he was, of medium height but with broad shoulders, a heavy jaw line, sun-kissed copper curls, and a nose slightly molded by the many Bludgers it had run into. Sitting next to Fischer, and looking all the more petite because of it, was Quinn Summerby. Striking auburn locks and icy blue eyes made this Slytherin appear less approachable than she actually was, although closer examination revealed a sprinkling of freckles and a warm smile.

"Morning, lazybird," said Quinn, pouring Teddy a glass of pumpkin juice. "Woke up just in time for class, did you?"

"I don't have any classes on Tuesdays," replied Teddy, stretching his long arms lazily behind his back. He gulped down the juice before repeating his question. "What's going on with all those people? They were saying something about a game"

"I think the other houses are having an impromptu Quidditch match," said Fischer. "Hamilton was telling the Hufflepuffs about it."

"Hamilton, huh?" Teddy raised an eyebrow. "I see why they didn't invite us."

"It was only a little crack."

"Yeah, in his skull."

"He healed," said Fischer, glaring at Teddy over the rim of his coffee mug. "Besides, I don't really think Hamilton is the only reason Slytherins weren't invited. I know you think McKinnon has warmed up to you, but the rest of Hogwarts isn't exactly feeling all that _friendly _towards us Slytherins right now."

Automatically moving for the _Daily Prophet_, Teddy asked, "What happened?"

"Greyback attacked the Hopkirks," said Quinn, supplying Teddy with the newspaper he was reaching for. "Page 3."

"A werewolf attack only merits page 3? What's on the front page, then?" There was only a hint of sarcasm in Teddy's voice.

"Barty Crouch authorized Aurors to use Unforgiveable Curses against dark wizards," said Quinn, her expression grim. "After those two Aurors who died last week, he's moving towards more drastic measures."

"And people are okay with that?" I mean, Unforgiveable Curses are supposed to be something you can go to Azkaban for, and now Aurors are allowed to use them?" asked Teddy.

Fischer shook his head. "The Ministry's getting desperate. People are getting angrier that progress isn't being made to stop You-Know-Who. Someone even threw Dungbombs at Meredith Greengrass this morning as she was coming to breakfast. Felicity told me she found her crying in the girls' lavatory."

"Meredith has got nothing to do with Greyback, though!" protested Teddy. "They're not even that closely related, considering all pureblood families are related in some way. And the Greengrass' publicly denounced all connections to Greyback ages ago, when he was first caught."

"Do you think the idiots here care about that?" asked Fischer, ears growing red. "They want someone to villainize, and throwing Dungbombs at a third year is a hell of a lot easier than going out to face Greyback themselves."

"_Fischer_," said Quinn, putting a calming hand on his shoulder.

"I know, I know," replied Fischer, surlily returning to his coffee. "It's not their fault. It's not anyone's fault, except the dark wizards who are actually going out and killing people."

"You phrase it so eloquently." Quinn stood up and gathered her books, looking sternly at the pair of Slytherin boys still munching on their breakfast. "I'm going to Arithmancy, now, but you two stay out of trouble."

"Alright Summerby," muttered Fischer.

"_Fischer."_

"I'll keep him from jinxing anyone," said Teddy, smiling comfortingly at his friends. "Don't worry, Quinn."

"Okay…" said Quinn, still looking apprehensive. "Bye Fischer."

"Bye Quinn."

* * *

><p>Fifty feet high up in the air, Marlene wiped her brow as she rested for a moment. Her Nimbus 1500 was doing work—the joint Gryffindor-Hufflepuff team was ahead by two games.<p>

"McKinnon!"

The shout came from Kevin Whitby, over by the goalposts. He was pointing at Hamilton, who was at center field signaling for everyone to land.

Waving to show that she'd seen, Marlene leaned forward on her broom. The Nimbus 1500 flew like a dream, responding to the tiniest shifts in her weight and accelerating faster than anything else on the pitch. It was even better than her brother's Cleansweep Five, which Marlene had coveted ever since she'd first learned what Quidditch was.

"Does that broom actually fly as fast as it looks, McKinnon?" asked Kevin, swooping in next to her.

"Nought to fifty in the time it takes for you to blink twice, Whitby," she replied.

"Its flier is no joke either," said Kevin. "I could swear you weren't half this good a Seeker last season."

"You scared Summers won't be able to handle me?" teased Marlene, referring to the Hufflepuff Seeker.

"Nah we've got time until we face you Gryffindors." Kevin lazily shook his head. "I'm more scared he'll take one look at Sylvia Edgecombe and refuse to go head to head with her in our Ravenclaw match this November. Boy's got some weird chivalry complex."

"Tell him Edgecombe could and probably would knock his ass off his broom," said Marlene, laughing.

Kevin broke out into a deep chuckle as well, remember the game last year when the delicate looking Ravenclaw Seeker had bowled over an unawares Slytherin Chaser. "Yeah, I probably should remind him of that."

"What are you two laughing about?" asked Sally Fawcett, another Hufflepuff sixth year. She pulled her broom around to fly next to Marlene.

"Whether Summers is going to be knocked off his broom by Edgecombe or not," said Kevin.

"I vote for yes," Sally said, "just because I want to see Summers' face as it happens. That boy needs to be taught a lesson or two about female Quidditch players. You know he actually offered to help me on my broom last practice?"

"What'd you say?" asked Marlene.

"Nothing," Sally replied. "I just got on and jetted fifty feet up in the air. Left him in the dust."

Marlene grinned. "Brilliant."

"It was, you should have seen it, McKinnon. He didn't dare talk to me for the entire next hour, which was even more of a feat considering he never stops talking."

"It was bloody gorgeous," added Kevin.

Finally arriving on the ground, the trio dismounted their brooms and prepared to join the rest on their way to the locker rooms. Marlene bent down to tie her bootlace first, half-expecting the Hufflepuffs to run up ahead and join the rest of their House. Instead, though, they waited for her. Kevin spent the time chivalrously offering to hold Sally's broom for her, to which she dramatically rolled her eyes.

"What are you three girls smirking about?" asked Ralph. He had walked back from the larger group to swing an arm around the Hufflepuff Keeper.

"Always the charmer eh, Hamilton?" said Kevin, making a face at his friend.

"You know I love you, Kevin."

"I've actually been feeling neglected as of late. You and Fawkner have been getting rather chummy."

"We're housemates, you've got to understand. That doesn't mean I care for you any less."

Aiden Hopkirk suddenly turned around, opening his arms in feigned astonishment. "What about me, Ralph? I'm hurt."

"There's room in my heart for you too, Aiden."

"Oi, don't leave me out of this mess," cried Gideon, who had been walking with Aiden. "Where's the Gryffindor love?"

"In Macdonald's arms—gerrof me Prewett!"

As the boys' rowdy crowd moved ahead, Sally leaned into Marlene's ear. "And they call girls clingy," she whispered.

Marlene giggled. It had been a good morning. She always did like being around people from other houses. She adored Lily and Mary, but there was simply a lot less drama and more easy fun when you didn't share a dormitory with someone. The mix of dynamics during the games today, across houses and even across years, had been refreshing, and Marlene walked across the field with a smile on her face.

The boisterous mood quickly died down, however, when Frank Longbottom stepped onto the pitch. The seventh year's normally bright face was arranged into a painfully neutral expression, although a shadow of a grimace plagued the corner of his lips. As the group slowed to a stop before Frank, Aiden and Landen halted with the rest of them without knowing why.

"Morning, Longbottom," said Aiden. "Don't worry, we're heading in now. Can't miss the prefects meeting, can we?"

"Actually, mate," said Frank, shaking his head, "Dumbledore needs you and your brother in his office, now."

"What for?"

Despite the question, though, Aiden's arm was already reaching to protectively draw his little brother closer. Nowadays, there was really only one reason to be called into Dumbledore's office.

"I think it's best to hear it from your father," replied Frank.

That was all Aiden needed to know. The boy's face froze.

"Dad's here?" asked Landen, tugging at his older brother's sleeve. "Is it because I didn't finish all the questions for Charms yesterday? I told Professor Flitwick that—."

"Flitwick won't owl our parents just because you didn't finish some homework," said Aiden, managing to push a smile onto his face for just a second. "Come on, Landen. Let's go."

As the siblings walked away, a few of the Ravenclaws raised their hands to wave but the rest of the Quidditch coalition stood stoically by. The sunlit, adrenaline-high of just two minutes ago seemed like an ancient memory to the teenagers on the field.

Ralph was the first to speak, curling his lips inward as a mixture of frustration and gloom washed over his face. "Thanks anyway, guys, for helping with all this," he said, gesturing loosely at the sky. "Head in. If we're lucky they might not have cleared the tables in the Great Hall yet."

The group nodded, not really knowing what else they could say, or whether it was appropriate to even say anything.

Marlene limped in to the locker room with the rest of the girls, sat down on a bench and dully started her stretches, bending forward to touch her toes. Then up on her tiptoes, to the right, to the left. Sylvia Edgecombe, the Ravenclaw Seeker, watched silently from the opposite wall.

"What's that supposed to do?" she finally asked, staring as Marlene lay down and brought her knee to her chest.

"Strengthening the piriformis muscle helps prevent back pain," replied Marlene as she switched to the other knee.

"If you've got back pain why not just go to Pomfrey for a quick Deflating Drought?"

"Magic builds up on your joints, adds interest, comes to collect once you turn forty or so," explained Marlene, absently. She moved on to a pelvic twist. "Besides, I haven't got back pain. I just want to prevent it."

"You plan on going pro, McKinnon?" Sally Fawcett stepped into position besides Marlene and loosely followed the Gryffindor's movements.

"If everything works out…" Marlene shrugged. "Who knows what's going to happen though, with the ways things are going?"

It was an innocent remark that came off more ominous than it should have. As Sylvia nodded tersely and moved on to removing her robes, Sally straightened up as well.

* * *

><p><em>(The Head Boy)<em>

_Inter-house Quidditch_, _they were actually playing casual inter-house Quidditch. _

Frank muttered to himself as he took long strides outside towards the pitch, where Dumbledore had directed him. He shook his head, half in denial, half in respect.

_They were actually playing…_

…_Inter-house Quidditch._

_ I suppose all it takes is a war to get Hogwarts to put aside House rivalries._

At that thought, Frank stopped in his tracks and mentally flicked himself on the forehead. Now was not a time to be making that joke… though at least Aiden hadn't heard. He sighed—who'd thought it was a good idea to make him Head Boy, anyway?

That Frank Longbottom's Hogwarts letter this year had included a shiny golden badge came to no surprise to anyone—himself and Ravenclaw John Mallory excluded. Frank was the type of boy that mothers compared their own sons too and then said, "John, why can't you be more like Mrs. Longbottom's son?"

Normally when a mother asks a question like that, her son resists the urge to be cheeky and reply, "everyone is special in their own way, Mum," but also subconsciously develops a small grudge against said perfect son. If the comparison between her own son and the perfect son is repeatedly made, often times his small grudge grows into a seething hate.

No one hated Frank Longbottom—well except for maybe John Mallory, but that wasn't of great significance. Even the most bigoted Slytherin had at least a begrudging respect for the Head Boy. Not only was Frank a pureblood and top in his year, but he was also generous, kind, and—as the female population of Hogwarts would readily add—quite good looking.

At the moment, though, Frank Longbottom kind of hated the fact that he was Head Boy. The responsibility of calling students up to Dumbledore's office, knowing what news they were inevitably to receive, weighed on his shoulders heavier than any bookbag full of textbooks ever had. Florence, the Head Girl and Frank's girlfriend, had offered to lead the Hopkirks up instead, since they were in her house, but Frank had declined. He was friends with Aiden and thought he owed it to the sixth year boy to at least take him and his little brother up to see the headmaster. He just had to remind himself not to say anything stupid.

"Oi, Frank, you remember the password right?"

A soft voice called out and Frank blinked his eyes to see Aiden peering expectantly at him. They'd already arrived at the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office.

"Yeah, of course. _Fizzing Whizbees."_

With a deep rumble, the stone statue rotated to reveal the winding staircase up to Dumbledore's office.

_Left. Right. Left. Right…_

Frank skipped a step so that his matched Aiden's.

_Right. Left. Right. Left._

The stairs seemed to grow longer each time Frank had to traverse them. He still remembered the first time he had ever gone up to Dumbledore's office… he had been eight, following his mother to Hogwarts on her visit to see Professor McGonagall. The two women, who were similar in more ways than Frank perhaps preferred, were old friends, and while they chatted Frank had been free to familiarize himself with Hogwarts' halls much quicker than any other young witch or wizard in England. One particularly long morning, Frank was searching for the infamous Hogwarts portrait of a nude Aphrodite when he realized he was lost, one torch-lit hallway looking the same as the next. Dumbledore had found the distraught young Mr. Longbottom and taken him up these same ascending stairs to his office.

_Right. Left. Right… Right._

Landen Hopkirk's steps were out of synchronization with the rest of them, and it made the back of Frank's eye itch. Soon, though, they shuffled to a stop in front of the oaken double doors that led into the headmaster's office.

"Your father is inside," said Frank, letting the other two boys catch their breath at the top of the staircase.

"You do this often nowadays, Longbottom?" asked Aiden, a slight tremor in his voice. He put one hand on a bronze doorknob but stopped short of turning it. "Does… _this_… happen often?"

"More than I would like," said Frank. "You know where to find me if you want to talk later."

With one comforting hand on Aiden's shoulder, Frank used the other to lightly push the door open. He lingered only long enough to see the Hopkirk siblings stumble towards their father before taking his leave, quietly pulling the doors shut again. The headmaster's office, which had once been a place of curiosity and free candy, was now headache inducing. Frank could not look at the steps leading up to it without thinking about the students he had walked them with—of all the bad news he had brought.

_Damn it. Next time I'm making Florence do this._

Aiden and Landen—everyone who had made the trip to Dumbledore's office this past month—they were just kids. They went to school in a castle, in a world where broken ribs were fixed with a wave of a wand. They'd cried more about England narrowly missing the World Cup final than the bridge collapse in Lancaster, fought more over who got to be Quidditch legend Lenny MacIntyre this Halloween. Kids who only knew how to mourn homework assignments and losing House points were not prepared to deal with death.

At that moment, Frank's stomach grumbled, which he thought was rather selfish of it. He considered walking back to the Great Hall to grab a fruit tart but quickly decided against the idea, as that might make him late for the prefects' meeting. He would just eat one of the Cauldron Cakes Florence always kept stocked in the office. According to his girlfriend, fueling the stomach also fueled the mind, although Frank wasn't quite sure of the epigram's validity. It kept the prefects happy and coming to meetings on time, though, so there was that, too.

Ducking behind a tapestry of Merlin, Frank jogged down the secret passageway he'd discovered long ago that led from the seventh to the fifth floor. He needn't have hurried, however, since he was still one of the first students to walk into the old classroom that had been remodeled into a prefects' office. Last year, Frank and some of the other prefects had taken it upon themselves to brighten up the space, banishing the old chairs and desks and dusty chalkboard to a storage cupboard. Now, a single long wooden table occupied the center of the room, with exactly twenty-four matching wooden chairs for each of the twenty-four student officers. A large chandelier supplied light when there was not enough sun streaming through the newly clean glass windows. More comfortable arrangements, including the fireside armchairs so beloved by Hogwarts students, had been brought in as well, and two bulletin boards ran the lengths of the room while new cabinets of stationary supplies and books like _Leadership in the 20__th__ Century _and _The Official Hogwarts Registry_ _of Students_ linedthe back wall.

Frank sat at the head of the table and quickly scarfed down a Cauldron Cake as the rest of the prefects filed in. It was the third meeting, but the atmosphere was still rather divided, as to be expected in the beginning of the year. The older students, now complete veterans at this whole prefects business, sauntered in, while the new fifth year appointees were more cautious. Frank wasn't worried though. It was always a bit awkward at first, but eventually the responsibilities and complaints shared amongst the prefects caused House and year lines to blur. Even now, the older members were looking out for their House juniors. Hufflepuff Dahlia Flume teasingly pushed fifth year housemate Terry Mitchell into a chair as the younger girl wavered between a seat on the left or right. Meanwhile, Charity Burbage held onto Thomas Connelly's arm as the pair were quietly lead to their seats by Dorcas Meadowes, the sole sixth year prefect from Ravenclaw today. Aiden, of course, was missing.

"How did it go with Hopkirk?" asked Florence Clearwater as she sat down next to Frank. The Head Girl's hand, perfectly manicured as always, moved comfortingly to hold Frank's.

"Is there any way it could have gone well?" Frank replied. He shrugged apologetically when his girlfriend pursed her lips. "What did Flitwick want to talk to you about?" he asked, referencing the other day when the Charms professor had kept Florence after class.

"Nothing much, just wanted to know whether the first years were adjusting well."

"Because of the Quintaped attack?"

"Probably, although he didn't say explicitly."

"How _are_ the Ravenclaw first years adjusting? Has anyone been locked out of the Common Room yet?"

"No, Frank, they have not," said the Head Girl.

"I still don't understand why you guys don't just use a password."

"The puzzle is a mental exercise."

"It's a mental pain."

To this, Florence simply turned pointedly away from the Head Boy.

Frank shook his head—Ravenclaws were abnormally proud of their House customs—before returning to observing the prefects. Felicity Shacklebolt, a sixth year Slytherin, had taken a seat near the head of the table nowhere near her housemates, and was staring mulishly ahead. The tall girl exerted an intimidating demeanor, and no one dared sit around her until the Gryffindors, late to the party, cautiously filled those last remaining chairs.

Alice Grisham and Lily Evans, taking the seats in Shacklebolt's direct line of sight, waved at the lone Slytherin. Though only returning the greeting with a curt nod, Shacklebolt's shoulders visibly loosened and she stopped looking like her pet cat had just died.

Frank knew that Shacklebolt was having problems with her House, ever since her younger brother had been Sorted into Gryffindor this September. It was strange, Frank thought, since Slytherins usually protected their own…

"Pass down your point deduction records," said Florence, having just finished checking attendance. "New sheets for this week can be picked up by the door at the end of the meeting. I also want to remind all prefects that excessive snoring is not a legitimate reason to dock points."

A round of snickers fanned through the room, but only weakly. It was Aiden who had done that, last Wednesday, jokingly taking a single point upon discovering Kevin Whitby passed out sleeping in the library.

"Mr. Filch has updated his list of objects banned from Hogwarts to include Dungbombs, having been forced to clean several of them up in the dungeon hallway. Prefects have the responsibility to confiscate them and all other objects on Mr. Filch's list upon sight."

Frank noticed Florence glancing a second longer at Remus Lupin as she made the announcement and fought the urge to chuckle. Everyone knew about the stash of forbidden materials James and Sirius kept stocked under their beds.

* * *

><p>"No you're not getting my Yodeling Yo-yo!"<p>

Fischer Manning took offense as Teddy Gilbert tried to wrench the toy from his friend's hands.

"Come on, Fischer. The Head Girl knows that you've got this so if I don't turn it in, I'm going to be in trouble."

"My great-grandfather gave this yo-yo to me!"

"You bought it for five knuts of a street vendor in Diagon Alley!"

"It was a hard-earned five knuts!"

"I lent you that money!"

"And you worked at your chores for that money!"

"Fischer, mate, please? I'll buy you a new one when we go to Hogsmeade!"

"When's the next Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Unconfirmed, pending a thorough search of the area by Aurors. According to Clearwater, anyway."

"Because of that Acromantula attack?"

"It wasn't an Acromantula."

"What was it?"

"I don't know. Don't try to change the subject, Fischer. Give me that yo-yo!"

"No!"

"It's your fault for bringing it to the library! Who's stupid enough to let loose a Yodeling Yo-yo with the Head Girl right around the corner?"

"Well I didn't know she was there, did I?"

"You have no excuses. It was a bloody library."

"I wanted to play a prank on Garrety, he's always falling asleep in there."

"Well you played your prank and now the Head Girl knows you've got a banned yo-yo."

"Why have I got to turn mine in? Do you know how many banned things Black and Potter have got hidden away? They've probably got enough to cross off half of Filch's list."

"That list has over three hundred items on it."

"My point exactly!"

* * *

><p>"Just a couple of things, please, Prongs?"<p>

Remus looked powerlessly on as the two black-haired Marauders sifted covetously through the trunk of banned inventory now sitting in the middle of their dormitory. He wasn't even bothering to try and grab anything himself—no, that would only get him tackled.

"Not the Jawed Jumpropes," said Sirius, shaking his head. "No, not the Portal Rings either."

"How about these?" asked James, holding a pair of Nose-Biting Teacups.

"Those aren't banned objects, mate," deadpanned Remus.

"Oh," said James. He then placed the prank teacups on his bedside table, planning to trick Peter with them later on.

"Never-Moving Stones? Are those banned?" asked Sirius.

"What do you think, Padfoot? It's a stone."

"Well you don't have to get touchy about it," said Sirius, turning back to the trunk. "Flaming Whiffleballs?"

"Too new. Filch doesn't know about those yet."

"Ah right. We've got to try these out soon."

"Focus, Padfoot."

"Drooping Daisies?" asked James.

"No."

"Fanged Frisbees?" offered Peter as he returned from his trip to the lavatory. The inventory of trunk items had been going on for quite some time.

"Surprisingly, no," said Remus.

"Yodeling Yo-yo!" exclaimed James, raising said toy triumphantly in the air. "I know these are banned. Clearwater made a huge row about it the other day because somebody set one off in the library."

Remus raised a single bushy eyebrow. "Do you honestly think the Head Girl will believe me when I say a Yodeling Yo-yo is the only banned object you guys have got?"

"It's not like she can do anything about it," said James, collapsing back onto his bed. "Aw Moony, you'll think of something smart to say and get out of it."

The sandy-haired Maruader wearily picked the yo-yo up and placed it in his bag. "You flatter me."

James and Sirius snickered for a second before falling into their own preoccupations, the former fiddling with his glasses and the latter picking through the rest of the suitcase. An unfamiliar silence fell over the dormitory, which all four boys noted uncomfortably. The silence was not tense, not hostile… just… unfamiliar. They say the closest friends can spend hours next to each other without speaking a word, and the Marauders were no exception. It just had never happened before, that was all.

Finally, Peter piped up. "What were _you_ doing in the library, Prongs?"

At the smaller boy's teasing, James chuckled. Sirius did as well, peering over to add, "Yeah Prongs, why were you in the library? Get lost did you?"

"I wasn't in the library," countered James, tossing a pillow at Sirius' face. "Longbottom told me about the incident afterward, since apparently Clearwater went on for an hour about it."

"Poor Longbottom—don't know how he puts up with that bird," said Sirius, catching the pillow and laughing. "I sat down next to him in the Great Hall one day, having a conversation, you know, when Clearwater just told me to leave."

"You serious?" asked Peter.

Sirius moved past the pun without skipping a beat. His response to that particular joke was a knee-jerk reaction, now. "Yes, I am. She said the asymmetry of the seating arrangement was bothering her."

"Loony-bin crazy," said James.

"She's Head Girl," half-heartedly added Remus.

Sirius looked down at Remus with wide eyes. "Yes, Moony, she is. And when you're Head Boy, we'll talk about how loony you are too."

"I'm just saying, you shouldn't say things like that about a Head Girl…" Even Remus' protest, however, was lackluster. He had long given up trying to protect the student officer system from the Marauders.

"Just imagine though, what it's going to be like when Moony is Head Boy," said Peter, grinning widely at the thought.

"I'm not going to be Head Boy, Wormtail." Remus shook his head—this was a conversation the Marauders often had.

"Of course you are," said Sirius. "Who else is Dumbledore going to pick? Cattermole is a ferrety mess who can't give orders. Hopkirk is too nice and won't give orders. And Gilbert, well, I don't know much about him but there hasn't been a Slytherin Head Boy or Girl in over three decades, ever since that Riddle bloke my old man always talks about.

"So basically you're saying Moony's qualifications for leading the student body are that he's bossy and not a Slytherin," said Peter.

Sirius grabbed the pillow that had been thrown at him earlier and flung it over to Peter's four-poster, catching the grinning brown-haired boy in the stomach. "Sarcasm is a delicate instrument and not to be used as a weapon, Wormy."

Chuckling all the same, Peter tossed the pillow back to its original owner.

"Nonsense," James said, finally sitting up to catch the projectile. "Sorry mates, but Moony's not going to be Head Boy."

"Why's that?" asked Sirius.

"You think Dumbledore's going to pick Moony after all the shit he lets us get away with?" said James, laughing.

Sirius shook his head and laughed as well. "Right, sorry about that Moony. I guess you're not going to get to use that nice Heads office after all."

"I don't want to be Head Boy anyway," said Remus, sticking his tongue out at the other boys.

Eyes still bouncing with mirth, James managed to stop chuckling for a second to ask, "How come?"

"No, I really mean it," said Remus.

"Yeah," said James, straightening his glasses. "So, how come?"

"It's going to make you guys all depressed," warned Remus.

"We're big boys," said Sirius. "We can handle it, Moony."

Remus sighed and repositioned himself on his bed. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"It's been duly noted," said Peter.

"Well," began Remus, slowly, "I've thought about it a lot, actually, but what happened to Hopkirk today made me certain."

Pause. The other three Marauders shared confused looks with each other.

"Granted, what happened to Hopkirk was terrible," said James, "but you're gonna have to give us a bit more context, Moony."

"The Head Boy and Girl watch over the entire student body, acting as mediums between the professors and the students. Sometimes that includes telling students bad news about their family…" Remus shrugged. "I don't know, I just saw Longbottom's face today at the prefects meeting, after he took the Hopkirks up to Dumbledore's office, and I realized I could never do what he'd just done. How can I take care of other students when I can't even properly take care of myself?"

"That's not fair, Moony," said Peter. "You're the smartest boy in our year."

"And you do take care of other people," Sirius added, frowning. "Imagine where the Marauders would be without you. Probably expelled."

"Too true," said James. "Although, I passed Longbottom and the Hopkirks on their way up to the Headmaster's office. The younger one's only a second year—bloody hell, I couldn't tell a kid like that his mum's dead."

Moony shook his head and fiddled with the corner of his blanket. "The attack was by Greyback, I read. Aurors still haven't caught him."

"Which has absolutely nothing to do with you," said James, sternly.

"I know," Remus replied. "… I know."

Sirius coughed loudly and made a show of looking around the dormitory. "Where's Gideon Prewett gone?"

"Library, working on a Muggle Studies project with Macdonald," said Peter.

"That bloke must really be in trouble if he's taking N.E.W.T. Muggle Studies for a girl," said Sirius.

"I don't know… I mean, if you're going to take any N.E.W.T. class just to be with a girl, Muggle Studies is a good choice. Not that much homework for that class," said Remus.

"Now, Arithmancy… _there's_ a class you don't want to chase a bird into," said Peter, tilting his head at James.

"You're flying in thin air, Wormy," said James. He had taken Arithmancy for a couple weeks in third year before promptly dropping it as soon as Professor Vector assigned their first numerology translation. Thirteen-year-old James Potter was not going to do numerology translations, even for Evans.

"Just saying."

"That was pretty funny, Prongs."

"Hilarious, even."

"SHUT IT."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **2 months... that's not that bad. Sorry if the pov shifts in this chapter were kind of confusing... I was running it in my head as a tv show with an ensemble cast.

As always, reviews much appreciated!

(and I will try to update more often since summer break is now officially here... promise)


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